Without You
by Sophie Jane
Summary: Andy goes missing while on assignment in Pakistan. Back in New York, Miranda remembers how to live on hope. The story starts off with Miranda and Andy as an established couple; though there are scenes interspersed throughout that show them getting there.
1. Chapter 1

"**Without You"**

A _The Devil Wears Prada _Fanfic

by JennedyJLD / JKSophieJane

**Fandom: **_The Devil Wears Prada_

**Pairing: **Miranda Priestly / Andy Sachs

Rating: M / NC-17

**Disclaimer: **The characters? They're not mine. I wish they were; but alas. This story has been written without motive of profit, but purely for my own enjoyment and with the hope you'll enjoy it as well.

**Dedication**: This fic is for Shesgottaread, who generously made the high bid on my auction for Help_Haiti. I certainly hope it's worth the price of admission!

**The Pitch**: Andy goes missing while on assignment in Pakistan. Back in New York, Miranda remembers how to live on hope. The story starts off with Miranda and Andy as an established couple; though there are flashback scenes interspersed throughout that show them falling in love and figuring out how to make a life together.

**The Beta: **Thank you to the marvelous StephElisaNeal, whose notes and helpful comments have saved me from myself on more than a few occasions.

* * *

A week ago, Miranda had been intrigued by the prospect of opening the front door and finding only peace, quiet, and the freedom to do as she liked on the other side. She had said with absolute conviction that she was looking forward to a temporarily empty house.

So much for that.

Three days into the bargain, during an agonizingly brief bedtime phone call from Andrea - the much too young and altogether inappropriate love of her life - Miranda confessed that she already missed the bustling, noisy soundtrack that defined life at the townhouse. The large home seemed lonely with Miranda its only resident –empty without clumsy, inelegant feet stomping on the staircase, silent with no excited chatter carrying through its long hallways.

Miranda's twelve-year-old daughters, Caroline and Cassidy, were in Colorado, spending their spring break skiing with the father they both adored but rarely saw. She missed her twins, but had been speaking with them daily and was on the receiving end of a steady flow of e-mails chronicling their improvement on the slopes. Caroline, it appeared, had developed a penchant for making ridiculous faces on the ski lift as Cassidy snapped photo after photo. Most important, Miranda had no doubt that the girls were safe and that she would see their smiling faces in three days.

The same could not be said for Andrea, who was neither safe nor accessible. Merely thinking about it caused Miranda's stomach to turn itself into a hardened knot of anxiety. On the same day the girls left for Telluride, Andrea packed a suitcase and caught a taxi to the airport. Three hours later, she was en route to Islamabad to spend two weeks as a research assistant for a video journalist doing a piece on the rising number of anti-government militias. Andrea's excitement about this "opportunity" had been so clear and constant that Miranda had kept her own worrying mostly internal, not wanting to put a damper on something that she knew had the potential of launching the career Andrea had always wanted.

Now, arriving home for her fifth night of solitary living, Miranda resigned herself to the reality that after being part of a couple for more than a year and cohabiting for nearly six months, she was not cut out for walking through her own front door with no one but Patricia to greet her (adding insult to injury, the Saint Bernard had not seen fit to do so tonight, remaining sprawled on the den carpet until Miranda came to _her _for their exchange of evening greetings).

No, Miranda realized, she could not go back to living alone, or to living only with the girls. She was accustomed to Andrea, accustomed to the unexpected life they were still building.

Miranda frowned and tossed her trench and bag into the coat closet. The new second assistant, Regina, would hang them up when she arrived with the Book and dry cleaning in a couple of hours. Tonight was Regina's maiden voyage, and Miranda's mood was so sour that she was faced with a brief but powerful temptation to rearrange the tables and flowers just to mess with her.

Deciding it wasn't worth the trouble, Miranda entered the kitchen. She cleared her throat in the silence and looked wistfully at the stove. Andrea, who enjoyed cooking and insisted that making dinner for Miranda and the girls was _meditative_, was usually putting the finishing touches on dinner by the time the editor arrived home.

This week, Miranda's housekeeper, Pamela, had resumed the duty of preparing meals and leaving them in the refrigerator. Miranda opened the stainless steel door and peered at the second shelf. Removing the saran-wrapped crystal platter, she revealed a colorful lobster salad and glared at it with mild disdain, carrying it with her into the study, where she sank into the elegant chair behind her desk and logged into her e-mail. She scowled at the screen when she saw that nothing had arrived in the ten minutes between checking her Blackberry in the car and sitting down behind the desk.

It was eight p.m. in New York, and Miranda had performed the calculation often enough to immediately realize that it was already 6 a.m. in Islamabad. Andrea had promised to call before going to bed every night, which usually meant a call during lunch for Miranda. There had been no call today. No e-mails. Not a word.

Miranda eyed her phone, tempted to call Andrea herself – but she had promised them both that she would resist these urges. For once, _she _had to be the patient, accommodating girlfriend. Besides, until today, Andrea had been quite good about staying in touch. Each day had brought several short e-mails and at least fifteen minutes of conversation, usually from the hotel, but Andrea occasionally found decent reception in the field. She was a talker, that one – and Miranda knew that if Andrea wasn't calling to chatter about something, it probably wasn't by choice.

Several hours later, Miranda once again sat behind the desk in her study, having made her way through the Book and half a pad of multi-colored sticky notes. Her phone rang promptly at ten o'clock, and her concern for Andrea increased when she realized she was actually disappointed that it was her daughters calling to tell her goodnight. Feeling guilty, she hurried through the phone call so that as soon as she hung up, she could check for missed calls from Andrea. There were none.

Muttering to herself about a lack of reception, and about Andrea being, far away from the region's real dangers, Miranda checked the news sites and saw nothing about any earthquakes, freak sandstorms, or meteors crashing into Islamabad.

In bed after her nightly moisturizing ritual, Miranda tossed and turned as rest eluded her. She found herself reaching out for a warm body that simply wasn't there, listening to the phantom sounds of the other woman's breathing. Miranda frowned, unashamedly pulling the pillow that still smelled faintly of Andrea's shampoo tightly into her arms. She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to mercifully descend.

Still awake at one, Miranda rubbed her eyes, opened her laptop, and composed a brief e-mail to Andrea, reminding her that she was loved and missed (and that she'd promised to call every night, but would probably be forgiven if she remedied her transgression _immediately_).

* * *

Miranda arrived at the office the next morning wearing a particularly fierce Prada suit – black with a coral pinstripe, a matching scarf knotted loosely at her neck over a white silk blouse. The skirt hit at her knees, and the four-inch heels on her Christian Louboutins clapped dangerously with each long stride from the elevator toward the outer offices, where a very nervous-looking redhead stood to greet her.

"Tell Nigel," Miranda began, "that under _no circumstance_ is he to use that awful lilac dress for the Fall Harvest shoot. That _color_ - it looks like a Smurf threw up on a flamingo. Use the plum Prada frock instead. And show me what Manolo sent over last week because Giambattista's latest samples were very disappointing." She watched Emily's pen move furiously over the page and rolled her eyes. Why her first assistant still needed to write everything down after more than two years at Miranda's side was something she failed to comprehend. Why couldn't she see these things coming? _Andrea_ could always see these things co–.

She stopped herself, took a deep breath, and continued. "Tell Mario that I need to see the proofs from his Wild in the Streets shoot by eleven o'clock at the very latest. I haven't seen anything since Friday, and he knows as well as anyone that I do _not _enjoy being out of the loop. Call my masseuse and schedule an appointment for twelve-thirty. Call Irv and _decline_ his invitation for lunch today; I'm far too busy."

Rounding the corner, Miranda slipped off her overcoat and tossed it, along with her Hermes birkin, onto Regina's desk without raising her eyes to look at the girl. She strode into her office and sat at her chair, realizing that Emily was waiting to see whether she was expected to follow. With an exasperated sigh, Miranda turned and sighed. "That's all," she said, picking up her reading glasses and sliding them onto her face.

Emily quickly turned away, practically hopping to her desk, ready to get moving on the day's orders.

Miranda logged into her e-mail, tapping her elegant Mont Blanc pen impatiently on the glass desk as she waited for the new messages to appear. Seventeen e-mails had come in since she had checked her phone in the car. She bit her lip in nervous excitement and read through the "sender" list, and then reread it before her heart sank firmly back into place, acknowledging the lack of an e-mail from Andrea.

Miranda started to dial Andrea's number, but reminded herself of her pledge to let Andrea call when she could. The last thing she wanted was to behave like her own ex-husbands, needy and selfish. She settled for sending another e-mail: "Let me know that you're all right, will you?" She stared at the message for a long minute, trying to decide whether it sounded desperate or needling. Tearing her eyes away as though it would absolve her from responsibility for her own clinginess, she hit "send."

By two o'clock that afternoon, Miranda had still received no word from Andrea and felt herself slipping into panic mode. It had been more than forty hours since she had gotten an e-mail from Andrea, and nearly fifty since their last telephone conversation. She was sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the way back to _Runway_ after a massage that had utterly failed to calm her nerves, and calculating time differences in her head.

It was midnight in Pakistan. Why hadn't Andrea called? Andrea had now blown two consecutive promises to "call you every night before I go to sleep." To say that this was unlike her would have been the understatement of the century. Miranda frowned at the hot Starbucks cup she cradled in her hand. She tried to work up a good anger, but only succeeded in slipping further into her anxiety.

"Christopher," she called over the privacy partition.

The driver looked over his shoulder, unused to his employer's ever acknowledging his existence. "Yes, Miranda?" he asked, hoping that he had injected the appropriate amount of deference into his tone.

Miranda drummed her fingers against the paper cup. "What do you know about Pakistan?" she asked.

"W-what do I know about it?" he asked, and then cringed. He'd been on enough car rides with Miranda Priestly, overheard enough of her conversations, to know that she didn't appreciate it when those whom she deigned to address did not have answers at the ready. "Well, I suppose that it's sort of a volatile place."

Miranda sighed. Her dog could have told her _that _much.

Christopher tried to keep his voice from trembling as he tried again. "The _Times _just ran an article about how Zardari's popularity is waning."

She "tsk"ed impatiently.

Christopher swallowed nervously. Asking Miranda a question was generally regarded as career suicide, but he was getting nowhere. "Miranda, is there anything in particular that you wanted to-"

Miranda's Blackberry buzzed in her pocket. "No!" she said, cutting Christopher off. She fished excitedly in her purse, and finally located the phone. She pulled it out, her heart sinking when she saw an unfamiliar area code on the display. She knew that Regina knew it was worth her job to make sure that Miranda's private cell number did not make it into undeserving hands, so she answered the call.

"This is Miranda Priestly," she said, already irritated at Not-Andrea.

A woman's voice – not immediately identifiable – came through the line. "Miranda," it said, through what sounded like tears.

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Who is-"

"Miranda, this is Judy Sachs," the voice said.

Andrea's mother. Andrea's mother who absolutely hated Miranda and looked down on the fashion industry in general and _Runway_ in particular, disapproved of Miranda's relationship with her only child, and would never in a million years be calling Miranda unless something was horribly wrong. Before Miranda could open her mouth to ask what had happened, Judy confirmed her fears.

Judy spoke again, and this time the tears were obvious. "We, ah… we got a call this morning."

"From Andrea?" Miranda asked, her voice so high that it surprised her.

"No… from Dave Leighton," Judy clarified.

Miranda's eyes widened. David Leighton was the network president – why on earth would he be phoning Andrea's parents?

"They've lost contact with Andy's crew," Judy continued. "There was an emergency transmission last night, and-"

"Emergency transmis- _what_?" Miranda demanded. "Where are they? Where is Andrea?"

"For God's sake, Miranda, listen to me!" Judy yelled. "They've lost contact. _We don't know _where they are," Judy sobbed. "Some witnesses saw men with guns overtake a car. They killed the driver, threw his body out, and drove off with the crew. With Andy."

Miranda fell silent, her eyes shutting tightly as she waited to wake from this surreal nightmare.

"She's with two others. Another researcher, that journalist Eric Clayton. The driver was their translator. Mr. Leighton said that kidnappers usually take credit within 48 hours, and they'll probably have someone to begin negotiating with soon," Judy said, her voice thick with worry.

Miranda rubbed her brow, absorbing the news. She was vaguely aware of the car stopping, but when Christopher came around to open her door, she pulled it shut. "When did you find out about this?" she asked dully.

"I told you. This morning," Judy snapped. "Less than five hours ago."

Miranda fought her instinct to attack, knowing that Judy Sachs was her only link to information. "You have known about this for five hours," she said, her voice dangerously low.

Judy paused. "Miranda, don't start. I'm calling you now. Andy listed us both as emergency contacts, and I told Mr. Leighton I would call you. I didn't… didn't think it right that you learn about this on television."

Miranda stared dumbly at the back of the driver's seat, the phone limply propped in her hand. She fought with everything in her not to go on the offensive. Instead, she asked, "When did this happen? The… the carjacking."

"Yesterday afternoon, their time," Judy said, sounding very tired. "About thirty-two hours ago. I don't know anything else…" She was quiet, and then a painful sob escaped her.

Miranda blinked in confusion, disbelieving that what Andrea's mother was telling her could possibly be true. As the disbelief ebbed from her body and was replaced by a sickening recognition of truth, Miranda felt the knot in her belly begin to rise, and choked past the large lump in her throat. "Judy," she said, her voice so small it startled her. "As soon as you hear anything at all…"

"I'll call you, I promise," Judy responded. "I'm sorry, Miranda… I know."

And then, for some time – she would never know exactly how long - Miranda closed her eyes, held the phone against her ear, and quietly wept with Andrea's mother.

* * *

Miranda did not return to the office that afternoon. She insisted that Christopher take her directly home. On the way, she called David Leighton and told him to call her directly with any information – Judy had promised to call the second she heard anything, but Miranda wasn't prepared to trust a woman whom she knew had never liked her with something as vital as keeping her appraised about Andrea's whereabouts.

The story hit before Miranda had reached a decision on the nagging question of when to tell the girls, and what to tell them. As Miranda looked on from her sofa in horror, a handsome reporter informed the world that network reporter Eric Clayton and his two research assistants, Kevin Garrison and Andrea Sachs. When Andrea's name was mentioned, her newspaper file photo was flashed onscreen, and Miranda's fingers formed a small fist, gripping a blanket and squeezing it tight.

Miranda sat, unmoving, for hours, waiting for an update. None came. She phone Leighton twice, and he promised that there was no new information, but that the network was doing all it could to locate its team. Although Andrea and Miranda had not yet staged a public coming out, their existence as a couple was an open secret among the more important players in New York. It was certainly known to David Leighton, who had not enjoyed being caught unprepared when Miranda asked precisely _what_ was being done.

At nine o'clock, Miranda's cell rang. Whipping her head in its direction, she read the caller ID and saw that it was Cassidy's number. She steeled herself for the difficult conversation. "Hi, Baby," she said softly, wondering if it was obvious even to a young girl that she was in the middle of a breakdown.

"Miranda." The deep voice was definitely not Cassidy's.

"Jonathan," she said, realizing that the call was from her ex-husband.

"I saw the story," he said. "The girls don't know yet. Miranda… are you…" He stopped. They had been divorced for nearly twelve years, but he remembered well enough how much she hated stupid questions. No, of course she was not all right.

Miranda sighed. "I don't know what I am," she admitted, rubbing her forehead. "I'm scared to death is what I am," she decided.

"Do you know anything?" he asked, gently.

"Only what's on television," Miranda said, wiping a tear from her cheeks.

Jonathan was quiet for a long moment. He had met Andrea only once, and spoken to her for fewer than ten minutes, but he knew as well as anyone else that she was now an integral member of Miranda's life, and the twins' lives. "I'd like to bring the girls back to New York tomorrow morning," he said. "You don't need to be alone."

Under any other circumstances, Miranda would have pointed out that he had no idea what she did and did not need. In this instance, though, she lacked the energy to fight. Jonathan had flown to Telluride on his own jet, and the girls could be in the air within two hours if they needed to be.

When it became clear that Miranda would not going to say anything further, Jonathan continued. "I can stay in a guest room. You shouldn't have to worry about taking care of anyone else. I just want you to have them near."

Miranda cleared her throat, thankful she had not sobbed or lost the contents of her stomach during their brief conversation. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"I'm so sorry," he said, at a loss for anything else. "It's unreal."

Miranda nodded, and thanked him again. She hung up, painfully aware that this was very, very real.


	2. Chapter 2

**"****Without You****"**

A _The Devil Wears Prada _Fanfic

by JennedyJLD / JKSophieJane

* * *

Miranda went through the motions that night, taking off her clothes, putting on her pajamas, and washing her face. She had even stupidly opened her e-mail, clinging to the crazy thought that somehow Andrea would have found a way to make contact with the outside world, and instead of an emergency transmission, might have …what, e-mailed Miranda? Miranda knew that the thought was completely illogical, but there it was, burned in the front of her mind where it refused to leave.

When she finally pulled back the covers and turned out the lights, sleep would not come. She was unable to find rest, and instead tortured herself with unanswerable questions about Andrea. Where was she? Was she frightened? Cold? Hungry? Hurt? Alive? The last was too frightening to contemplate, and Miranda banished it from her mind each time it stubbornly reappeared.

Alone in the large bed, wrapped in soft fabric, Miranda clung to Andrea's pillow. She whispered prayers to a God she had stopped believing in years ago, making ridiculous bargains about becoming a better person, if only it meant that Andrea would be spared. There was no comfort, no solace, in any of it.

The woman she loved was lost, scared, and alone on the other side of the world, and for once in her life, Miranda couldn't do a damn thing about it.

* * *

Jonathan and the twins arrived at about nine the next morning. Miranda knew that she looked awful after having gotten no sleep the night before, but couldn't bring herself to care. The moment she opened the door, four long arms wrapped around her, and two red heads pressed against her chest. Jonathan stood discreetly by as Miranda and the girls tried to comfort one another, and quietly moved his and the girls' suitcases into the house.

The entire day moved in a dizzying blur. Caroline and Cassidy stuck by Miranda's side as the phone didn't ring and the news kept repeating the same bleak facts: Carjacking. Native Pakistani driver shot to death and discarded on the road. No one with any information about where the car had gone. No one taking credit.

By mid-day, Miranda was nearly out of her mind. She had seen the story – and Andrea's photograph - splashed across television and the internet so many times that the reality of the situation was finally registering. Never adept at sitting and waiting for things to happen, Miranda was crippled by the anguish of not being able to save Andrea from whatever unknown evil had befallen her.

She phoned David Leighton, who knew nothing. She even phoned Judy and Richard Sachs, who knew only that that their entire front yard was now full of reporters and photographers hoping to snap photographs of the grieving parents. Surprised by their acceptance as much as by her own suggestion, Miranda offered to have them stay with her in New York. She had staff, and the Sachses would not need to leave the townhouse. Most important, the family would all be in one place when Andrea was returned – the possibility that she would not be was too awful to contemplate. Emily handled the arrangements to have Jonathan's jet sent to pick them up the next day, and for the second time in as many days, Miranda felt immensely grateful to have an ex-husband whose means exceeded her own.

Finally, she phoned the office. Emily, who had been one of the first to realize that Andrea's return to Miranda's life had absolutely nothing to do with work, offered a resigned, "Of course, Miranda," when the editor insisted on a sit-down meeting with the President if Andrea had not been safely returned by the end of the week.

Later that afternoon, when Miranda phoned Regina to see if David Leighton had made a dreadful mistake and tried reaching her at the office instead of on her cell, she could hear Emily in the background, frantically working on her assignment. "But really, Madame Secretary… it's the least you can do. Need I remind you that Miranda held a huge fundraiser for your campaign and personally commissioned twenty-seven pantsuits?"

By nightfall, Miranda remained unconvinced that the State Department was working on finding and rescuing Andrea and the other journalists. There were no leads, no new information until nearly midnight. Miranda had just left Cassidy's bedroom, where the twins were huddled together, sleeping in one bed for the first time in years, when her cell phone rang.

Miranda jumped, hitting the "receive" button and bringing the phone to her ear. "Yes?"

"Miranda, it's Dave Leighton." He sounded very serious, and Miranda's heart stopped. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"No," she said flatly, rejecting the bad news before it was delivered. She slipped onto the mattress, her hands making tiny fists, opening and closing around the sheets. "No, no."

"It's not Andy Sachs," he said, and coughed softly. "It's Kevin Garrison, the other research assistant." He took a deep breath. "The network will be announcing it in a few minutes. Some Pakistani civilians just found Kevin Garrison in a small town in the northwest section of Islamabad."

"They… they 'found' him?" Miranda asked, her voice thick, foreign even to herself.

"Beaten, badly. Shot to death."

"Oh God," Miranda gasped, her heart beating again, this time so fast it threatened to burst right out of her chest.

"There was a note attached to his body."

"How much?" Miranda asked quickly. "How much?"

"Miranda, it's not that easy, we can't…"

"You tell me how much and it's done," Miranda snapped. "My God, David. Let's finish this."

"The government has a very strict policy of not negotiating with kidnappers," he said, without conviction. "They'd never let us pay a ransom."

"And _I _have a very strict policy of not sitting and waiting while someone I love is being held prisoner," Miranda said, the level of her voice raising. "They really shot him, David?"

Leighton was quiet. "Yes," he finally said. "They did."

Miranda bowed her head. "I swear to God, if I have to get on an airplane and personally write these monsters a check…"

He sighed. "It wasn't that kind of note, Miranda. They haven't asked for money yet. The note was just to let us know who did it. An anti-government militia from Mingaora. The State Department has the note."

"What in God's name are they doing with it, then?" Miranda snapped. "My assistant called Hil- called the Secretary of State today, and as far as I can tell, nobody's doing anything." She knew she sounded like a raving maniac, and in this instance, did not care.

Leighton continued, trying to keep his voice calm. "There was a computer disc on Garrison as well, but it's encrypted. It might not be made public – depends what's on it. I'll be sure you know everything as soon as I do, Miranda."

Miranda felt her throat clench as she choked back a sob. "What can I do? Who do I talk to? How do we make things happen?" she demanded, frantic.

"The State Department is trying to deal with the Pakistani government, but this is complicated. We're not dealing with government prisoners, like in Korea last year, with Ling and Lee. Here, we're dealing with something less organized - a gang, really. Probably just a few militants looking for dollars or publicity. Once we know what they want – and we're hoping it's on that CD – we can do something."

Their conversation ended, and Miranda padded down the hall to the guest room, where Jonathan was still watching the news as the new information was revealed.

"Why on earth would they kill that kid?" Jonathan asked, rubbing a hand through his thick russet hair. His green eyes locked on hers, and he noted her pained expression. He'd called Garrison a kid, when he was probably the same age as Andrea.

"To show us that they're serious," Miranda said quietly. "To scare the hell out of us."

Jonathan nodded, rubbing his still-handsome face groggily.

"What if they've… hurt her?" Miranda asked, quietly. She couldn't bring herself to ask the questions she was really thinking. _What if they've killed her? What if they haven't killed her yet, but they're going to, tonight while I'm asleep instead of doing something._

He looked at her. "She knew the risks," he said. "She doesn't blame you."

How could he still read her so well? Miranda lowered her head and allowed herself to fall into the comforting arms he offered. He rubbed her back gently, whispered that it wasn't her fault, and helped her walk the distance back to her room where she would cry herself into a fitful sleep borne from sheer exhaustion.

* * *

_Their first date had been a little bit clunky in the beginning, but Miranda had to acknowledge that she was to blame for that. _

_To begin with, she had hardly been able to comprehend that she was actually _going _on a date with Andrea Sachs in the first place. She hadn't seen the insolent girl since Paris, when she had abandoned Miranda in the middle of the busiest week of the year, during one of the worst weeks of her life. There had been that one time on the street, outside the coffee shop, but that scarcely counted. Miranda had merely glared at Andrea, and left without acknowledging her. There - that would show her. _

_Instead, it had shown her that she still wasn't ready to face whatever it was that made sure that Andrea Sachs was never far from her mind, never out of her system. _

_Three weeks later, Andrea telephoned the office and asked Miranda if she could buy her dinner to thank her for the positive recommendation. "Now, I can't really afford Le Cirque," she had said in that charming, aw-shucks way of hers, "but I promise I won't take you to Chili's."_

_Miranda had giggled. God help her, she had actually giggled. Almost as though they were _flirting_. But they weren't . They couldn't be. They were both women, for one thing, and that had never been Miranda's bag. For another thing, and Miranda was loathe to admit it, but she really _was _old enough to be Andrea's mother. Still, she couldn't help herself from firing back._

_"Andrea, be honest."_

_"Okay," the younger woman had answered, finally sounding a little thrown. Score one for Priestly._

_"You could have sent a card."_

_"I'm sorry?"_

_"To thank me for the recommendation. You could have… you don't have to take me out to someplace that is neither Le Cirque nor…" She frowned. "Chili's." _

_Andrea had taken a moment. "I guess," she admitted._

_"But you didn't send a card," Miranda pointed out. "Or flowers or, God help us, a balloon. Why dinner? We've never gone to dinner before."_

_"No," Andrea admitted, losing steam. She was off her game. Score one for Priestly._

_Miranda sat back in her chair, looking out at the New York skyline. She tapped her pen impatiently on the desk, and was on the verge of hanging up, when Andrea spoke again._

_"I guess..." she was saying, sounding very unsure of herself. "I wanted to talk to you. About everything."_

_Miranda scowled. "We're talking now. Go ahead, you have my attention."_

_Andrea breathed deeply, and then said, in a much cheerier voice, "But this isn't any fun," she insisted. Miranda could __practically hear her smile through the phone line. _

_"It's not 'fun?'" Miranda asked, confused. _

_"I can't see you."_

_Miranda's eyes went wide as the implications of what Andrea said hit home. "So you're not calling to thank me. You want to see me."_

_"Well," Andrea said, and for one horrible moment, it sounded as though she might retract. "Well, yes. I do."_

_Miranda's eyebrows lifted as she struggled to quickly puzzle this out. "Andrea. Are you __calling to ask me on a..." She paused. Andrea did not fill in the blank. "Have you lost your mind?"_

_Andrea huffed. "No." _

_Miranda couldn't help but laugh. "You're absolutely crazy. It must have occurred that this could end very, very badly for you."_

_Andrea was quiet for a moment. "That might have entered my mind," she acknowledged._

_Miranda rolled her eyes. "And where did you put your own odds of success?" _

_"Oh, one in a million. Billion. Not great," Andrea admitted. "But here I am. On the phone."_

_"Tell me again why you called," Miranda demanded. "This time without the phony excuse."  
_

_Andrea exhaled. "Well," she said, her voice even. "I called to ask you to have dinner with me. I'm asking you on a date, Miranda."_

_Miranda immediately narrowed her eyes, scandalized by the suggestion. She thought about Andrea's proposition for a long moment, realized the sheer courage that it must have taken for the girl to utter that last bit, and rolled her eyes heavenward when she realized that she was going to accept. "Fine," she said flatly. "But I'm choosing the restaurant."_

_Andrea was quiet, and Miranda realized she was probably shocked. _

"_Well?" Miranda asked, wondering if she was having some sort of midlife crisis. Perhaps she should buy a sports car, or start smoking again. Maybe that would do the trick. _

_But Miranda didn't have time to reverse course and withdraw her acceptance. Andrea was already stammering on the other end of the line. __"Oh. Well – oh. Okay, good. Sure. We'll have dinner."_

_When Miranda hung up the phone after making plans, she was smiling again.  
_

_

* * *

_

_Three days after that conversation, they were sitting in a restaurant that was a hell of a lot close to Le Cirque than Chili's, and things were awkward to say the least. Andrea looked absolutely gorgeous in her plum dress, with her hair pulled into an elegant updo, and Miranda had looked on with a special interest, knowing that the effort was made especially for her. _

_Small talk had never been a gift of Miranda's, and because she rarely attempted to do anything she wasn't capable of doing well, they weren't getting very far with the usual first date orders of business. But Andrea was good enough at talking for both of them, and had tried directing the conversation toward a number of subjects – news, work, music, politics, the arts – before finally finding the right one just after their plates had been cleared away. _

_"So," she asked, a warm smile on her lips and in her dark eyes. "How are Caroline and Cassidy?"_

_Miranda, who had barely spoken at all and was beginning to wonder if Andrea was having doubts about this entire arrangement, finally relaxed. "Older," she confessed. "They'll be thirteen this summer. It's very difficult to believe." She sighed, and made a confession that she did not expect to make, but that Andrea's soft gaze coaxed from her. "Their father is moving back to New York," she said. "He's been in Paris for the last five years. He wants to... to see more of them before they're all grown up."_

_Andrea nodded, listening closely to every word she had said. "How do you feel about that?" she had asked, in an empathic tone that made it very clear that she cared about the answer._

_"I'm nervous," Miranda said, startled to hear one of her secret fears on her own lips; startled even more than Andrea Sachs was her confessor. "What if they want to spend more time with him? What if…" She stopped, and sipped her wine, wondering if she had gone too far; if there was any going back. Andrea's face was as calm and attentive as ever. Miranda cleared her throat gently. "All our lives, it's been the girls and me. Jonathan for a weekend every few months, a holiday every other year. Stephen, but he was a non-entity in their lives." She breathed deeply. "It's always been just the three of us."_

_Andrea nodded slowly. She waited, and blinked as she cautiously moved her manicured hand across the white tablecloth and rested it next to Miranda's wine glass. She lifted her eyes hopefully. _

_Miranda swallowed hard, and made her decision. She met Andrea's eyes with her own, and rested her own hand on top of the younger woman's. She closed her finger and rubbed her thumb against the back of Andrea's hand. Andrea's skin was cool and smooth, and this small physical gesture ignited something within Miranda that began in her palm and ended in her toes. Miranda's head was swimming, the faint scent of Andrea's perfume invading her senses and the strange weight of her hand threatening to undo her._

_Andrea smiled gently, letting Miranda know that this was okay; this was good. "You'll never lose them," she said, bringing Miranda back to the moment. "They're not going to forget that you're the one who never left them."_

_It was in that moment, at that table, that Miranda realized that the eyes she was looking into belonged to someone she would love for all of her life. She doubted that Andrea knew it yet, but then again, she was looking at her with something that looked a lot like certainty. Maybe she did know. After all, the girl had always been a surprisingly quick study._

_They had sat in companionable silence that was only occasionally broken by words, and even the conversation was comfortable, unforced. Miranda pretended to miss Andrea's look of minor embarrassment when the waiter didn't hesitate to leave the check in front of the older, recognizable woman. The woman with the money. She slipped her black card into the appropriate slot, and a few minutes later, Andrea stood behind her, helping her into her coat._

_"Did you drive?" Miranda asked._

_"I took a taxi," Andrea responded. She hadn't mentioned it then, but later Miranda would learn that Andrea didn't have a car. Forced to choose between wheels and a roof over her head, this was a reasonable decision._

_Miranda hesitated. Would it be too forward for her to ask… She went for it. "Why don't you let me drop you. You're practically on the way."_

_Andrea laughed, her smile threatening to blind Miranda with its brilliance. "Miranda," she said, warmly. "You have no idea where I live, but you could __probably __guess it is nowhere close to being on the way to your place."_

_Miranda's eyes narrowed playfully. "Don't correct me," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, "when I'm trying to spend more time with you."_

_Andrea's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh?" she asked, her smile turning downright giddy. "Oh!" she said again, managing to sound no less excited. "Okay, then. You can take me home." She realized the implication of her statement, and giggled._

_Miranda went red._

_Andrea looked completely horrified, and tried to backpedal. "Oh, I didn't, I mean, I… my apartment. You're taking me to my apartment. Which is very nice of you, really, because it's in this really crummy area, and you'd better drive carefully because they're not used to seeing cars like yours around, and…" _

_Miranda put a hand up. "Andrea. Stop."_

_Andrea smiled guiltily, and nodded._

_Miranda rolled her eyes. "For God's sake," she muttered, unable to keep the smile from her lips. _

_Andrea had grinned at her, and walked a little too close to her as they left the restaurant. Miranda didn't mind – not in the least. Nor did she mind when Andrea's hand found hers and covered it on the armrest, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. _

_Miranda had only just started to get nervous about their surroundings when Andrea, who had been looking at her almost shyly and chewing her lip in what looked like anticipatory delight, emitted a small squeak. "Ooh! This is it," she said, and gestured to a joyless dark brick building._

_"You live here," Miranda said. It was an observation, not a question. "That's quite a subway ride from Runway__." _

_Andrea shrugged, and laughed gently. "Especially when I got calls at 6 a.m. telling me to be there immediately." _

_Miranda rolled her eyes and pulled the Porsche to the curb. She left the engine running, but put the car in park. She was difficult and demanding, especially in the working world. It was not a revelation to her, nor an unwarranted comment from Andrea. _

_Andrea looked at the building, and then back at Miranda. Miranda could feel her thinking about whether to invite her in, and her heart began to race. Of all the most awkward moments in Miranda's life, this one took the cake. _

_"I have to get home," she said, answering Andrea's question before it was asked. "The girls go to bed in an hour, and I should see them first. And then there's…"_

_"The Book," Andrea said, her soft smile returning. She squeezed Miranda's palm gently. "Miranda, I had a really nice time tonight."_

_Miranda felt her breath hitch in her throat. A nice time. She had decided that she was never letting Andrea go. Andrea had had a nice time._

_As if she had read Miranda's mind, Andrea laughed and shook her head. "I had a wonderful time," she amended. "I'd like to… to do this again. Soon." _

_Miranda nodded. "Okay," she said, having difficulty finding her voice. _

_Andrea shook her head and smiled. If Andrea had been anyone else, Miranda might have suspected that she was having a laugh at her. But she didn't laugh. Instead, she unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face Miranda. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice low and careful._

_Miranda's eyes narrowed. "Of course I'm all right."_

_"I mean… you're okay? About our seeing each other like this."_

_Miranda felt her mouth go dry. Andrea really believed in putting it all right out there, didn't she? She looked at Andrea, who looked so beautiful in that plum summer dress, and knew that she was more than okay with it. She nodded._

_But Andrea's smile was kind. She lifted the hand she held in her own, and kissed it softly. Miranda exhaled audibly, her chest suddenly feeling tight in her dress. She lifted her eyes to Andrea, who was leaning across the seat, an expression of interest crossing her beautiful features. Miranda licked her lips nervously. This was going to happen. Andrea Sachs was going to kiss her. And she was going to love every second of it._

_Miranda closed her eyes and felt herself lean forward, too, until the distance between her mouth and Andrea's was finally closed. Andrea's lips were warm and soft and wet, and tasted of honey and promises._

_Miranda felt herself moan slightly, and she felt Andrea's mouth open beneath hers, in invitation – or maybe it was surprise. Vaguely aware of her own hand leaving Andrea's and coming to rest on the younger woman's neck, Miranda pulled her lips away. Andrea made a small, delicious noise – a noise that could mean only that Miranda should continue. She realized, with no small degree of shock, that she wanted to. She covered Andrea's mouth with hers and pulled her in close, resting her other hand on Andrea's arm, fingering her smooth skin as she pushed her tongue past Andrea's lips. _

_Andrea's mouth was open and warm and slick, and Miranda moaned gently as she moved her tongue, exploring and tasting. She licked at the corners of Andrea's mouth, pushed her tongue back in, rubbed at the back of Andrea's head with her fingers, gasped at the softness of Andrea's dark hair. Andrea kissed her back enthusiastically, sliding her tongue over and against Miranda's as she made several small, happy noises to let Miranda know that this was perfect, this was something they could be doing a lot more of, if Miranda wanted to. _

_After several long minutes of kissing and panting and gasping – and one delicious moment when Andrea leaned into Miranda and Miranda could feel her breasts through the fabric of her dress – Miranda pulled away and opened her eyes. Andrea slowly came into focus as she blinked. _

_Andrea appeared just as surprised by the intensity of their kiss. "Wow," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned to Miranda. "We'll be doing this again?"_

_Miranda nodded, a delicious smile forming on her lips. "Soon." _


	3. Chapter 3

"**Without You"**

A _The Devil Wears Prada _Fanfic

by JennedyJLD / JKSophieJane

* * *

Judy and Richard managed to make it from Cincinnatti to New York with little fanfare, but the small throng of paparazzi who were permanently stationed at the corporate and private jet tarmac recognized the parents of the missing journalist immediately. A motorcade of eager and opportunistic videographers followed Christopher back to the townhouse as he weaved the Mercedes in and out of traffic and tried a dozen alternate routes in unsuccessful attempts to lose them.

What had for some time been one of the worst-kept secrets in New York was no longer a secret at all by the time Andy Sachs' parents were photographed getting out of Miranda Priestly's car on the sidewalk outside her Manhattan townhome. Christopher hurried around the car, where Jonathan had come outside to meet them. They flanked the Sachses, and led them up the short distance from the curb to the front door. Judy kept her head down, and Richard shot a wounded look directly at a camera lens.

Jonathan opened the door and Christopher gave his new charges his best wishes for their daughter's safe return. Once inside the luxurious anteroom, Christopher hung their coats and began to take their luggage upstairs to Caroline's room. Caroline had agreed to bunk with her sister for the duration, or at least until Jonathan left and ceded the guest room to Richard and Judy. Downstairs, Jonathan turned to introduce himself, but heard Miranda approaching from the kitchen, ready to do it herself.

"Judy, Richard," she said, walking and speaking slowly. Each syllable, each step, was an ordeal. "This is Jonathan Hughes, the girls' father. He'll be staying with us as well, until…" She took a deep breath. "Until."

Judy looked at him, surprised. She had wondered who he was, but would not have guessed that Miranda Priestly was the sort of woman to have her ex-husband living under her roof for any period. He certainly was handsome – and as she took in his bright eyes and copper hair, Judy saw a distinct resemblance to the twin girls she had seen in some of the photographs Andy e-mailed from time to time.

"Richard Sachs," her husband said, shaking his hand. "My wife, Judy."

Judy snapped out of her reverie and took Jonathan's offered hand. She didn't know what to say. If not for her daughter being kidnapped and held prisoner in a remote corner of the world where she could be neither reached nor helped, she would not be meeting this man. Under those circumstances, a polite "nice to meet you" would have sounded ridiculous. Instead, she said nothing, and turned to face the woman who, despite being two years older than Judy, had captured the heart of her only child.

"Miranda," she said, realizing that Miranda looked as if she might just be the only person on earth who felt anything close to the anguish and pain that she and Richard were feeling.

Miranda stepped forward, pushing gently on the glasses that had begun to fall down her considerable nose. She wore loafers, plain linen slacks, and a simple blue cotton pullover. Judy knew instinctively that this was probably as close to lounging around the house in her pajamas as Miranda Priestly ever got.

Richard cleared his throat uncomfortably, feeling that he should say something, but not knowing what it was. What did you say to the fifty-two-year-old woman who was sleeping with your twenty-five-year-old daughter? To the wealthy, powerful celebrity who was providing the child you had raised with small town values and humility a jet set lifestyle and a set of priorities that was antithetical to your own? To the mother of two who had selfishly taken all the devotion that Andy had offered, sparing no regard for all that she was sacrificing?

Richard knew he had nothing to say to that woman, so instead, he addressed her merely as Andy's grieving partner, the woman who had obviously spent the previous two days as worried sick as he and Judy had been. "Thank you for opening your home to us, Miranda," he said.

Miranda nodded. "Of course. I want all of us to be in one place when Andrea is returned to us."

Judy reached out and gripped Miranda's hand, squeezing it softly. The women regarded each other, and eventually both their faces softened.

"Please," Miranda said, "come with me. My daughters are in the kitchen. I'm trying to limit the amount of news they see. I never know if David's calls will come before something terrible appears on the news, and I just…" She choked back the lump in her throat. "I don't want them to see anything on television."

Richard nodded, placing his hand on the small of Judy's back as they followed Miranda down a long hallway to a cozy kitchen where the fragrant smell of coffee and chocolate chip cookies filled the air. Inside the room, the red-haired girls from the photographs sat at a round table, looking miserable as they half-heartedly dunked their cookies into half-empty glasses of milk.

"Caroline, Cassidy," Miranda said, trying her best to sound pleasant although her heart was breaking just as surely as everyone else's. "Please say hello to Andrea's parents, Judy and Richard Sachs."

"Hello," Cassidy mumbled, raising a sleepy eyebrow.

Her sister didn't appear to have gotten any more sleep. Their first sleepover in years had clearly been filled with worry and tears. "Hi," she said, not even trying to smile. "I'm Caroline," she said, helpfully if not enthusiastically. She pointed to her sister. "That's Cassidy."

Cassidy nodded, and stifled a yawn as she delivered a well-worn line: "I'm a little bit taller, but you can't tell unless we're standing next to each other. So, good luck."

Richard and Judy exchanged looks. Even on a good week, they might have trouble distinguishing the twins. This week, it was a virtual certainty that they would screw it up most every time. They both offered smiles to the children, hoping that if they were liked, their eventual and inevitable mistakes would be forgiven.

Standing next to Richard and Judy Sachs, Miranda couldn't help but remember the only other time they had all been in the same room together.

* * *

_She had made the mistake of agreeing to join Andrea on a trip home, thinking that, by boarding a commercial airliner and spending a week in Cincinnatti, she would somehow impress Andrea's parents by her willingness to signify Andrea's importance to her. _

_ Instead, she had spent forty awkward minutes in the Saches' living room, which consisted almost entirety of Miranda being asked just what in the hell she thought she was doing with a woman half her age, and whether she honestly thought it was fair asking Andrea to commit to a relationship that would result in her being branded a gold-digging opportunist at best, and even assuming it did work out (and they all knew it wouldn't) a relationship that would leave Andrea a young widow who had never fulfilled her lifelong dream of having her own children. Miranda had, of course, reacted defensively, though she thought she had reigned it in rather well, considering. In turn, the Sachses had been less than impressed by Miranda's "rich bitch" shtick _

_ Andrea had followed when Miranda stormed out of her parents' house, but was crying quietly within minutes of getting in the car. "I mean," Andrea sniffed, "I know they were horrible. But you didn't have to be horrible back. Can you just not help yourself from making things so difficult?"  
_

_ "Difficult?" Miranda huffed. "Are you serious?"_

_ Andrea looked down at her lap. "You knew their preconceived notions about you. This trip was about showing them that they were wrong. Not about proving them right."_

_ Miranda stared at Andrea for a long minute, not speaking until the younger woman was looking directly into her eyes. "Oh, Andrea," she finally said, in a flat tone of voice that betrayed both anger and hurt. "I love being judged. It's the only thing I enjoy more than being asked to explain myself."_

_Andrea sniffled, looking out the window, not meeting her girlfriend's glare. "You knew they weren't excited about this. You said you could take it."_

_ "I did take it," Miranda grumbled. "I took it and took it, in fact. I sat there for forty minutes and let them speak to me as I have never allowed anyone to speak to me at any time in my entire adult life, Andrea."_

_ It was their first argument about something important, and it led to a very uncomfortable drive back to the hotel and an awkward evening once they had arrived. But still, __they had__ found each other, resisted going to bed angry, and made love. The next morning, Andrea promised that she would never let her parents come between them, that she would keep working on winning them over. Miranda, for her part, promised to try harder next time._

_

* * *

  
_

And now the Sachses were standing in her kitchen. "Next time" was here, and Miranda was going to try harder, because she promised Andrea that she would.

Miranda sniffed the air. "Are the cookies any good?"

Caroline shrugged. "I guess."

Cassidy looked at Judy. "Andy taught us how to make them. She said you taught her when she was our age."

Judy tensed, picturing her Andy in Miranda's house, with her daughters, in a scene of such simple, enjoyable domesticity. She forced a smile. "That's right," she said. "I did. Do you mind if I have some?"

Caroline shook her head. "Go ahead. I can't eat anymore anyway." She got up from the table, and walked into her mother's arms.

Miranda bent and kissed the top of her head sweetly.

Caroline looked up at her. "I miss Andy so much," she said quietly, wrapping her arms around her mother.

Miranda caught Judy's eye, and closed her own painfully. "I know, Bobbsey," she whispered. "We all do. And there are some very smart people who are working hard to make sure that she is back home with us soon." She hoped that she at least _sounded_ like she believed it.

Caroline nodded, and went back to the table, where her sister was arranging several cookies on a plate that she had made for Andy in art class. Across the kitchen, Miranda managed several labored breaths, thinking about how much a part of their lives Andrea had become in a relatively short time.

The girls had never been given a chance to bond with Jonathan – her first marriage had ended within months of the twins' births, as soon as Miranda had realized that her husband had been unfaithful and that their marriage was irretrievably broken. And Stephen, whom she had married when they were nearly seven and divorced three years later, had never put forth much of an effort to get to know them. Andrea, though – Andrea had tried very hard, just as she always did, with everything that she cared about.

And so, with a heart full of worry, Miranda sat down at her kitchen table and tried to eat cookies made from Andy's recipe with the daughters she adored, the ex-husband with whom she had forged something resembling an uneasy alliance, and the in-laws (Andrea's word, never hers) with whom she had only one thing in the world in common.

* * *

_In the end, it was Caroline who popped the question. _

_The redhead, clad in her polka dot pajamas and house shoes, padded into the kitchen a half-hour ahead of schedule and surprised Andy, who had just finished loading a bowl into the dish washer. She was replacing the box of Cap'n Crunch when she heard a small voice behind her._

"_What are you doing?"_

_Andy spun around, the look on her face equal parts horror and guilt. "I'm… ah…" Andy stammered, feeling her face grow warm. She decided that stating the obvious would, at the very least, buy a few precious seconds of time to work out a better answer. "I was just having cereal."_

_Cassidy rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Why did you eat already? Why don't you ever stay and have breakfast with us?"_

_Andy blinked. Cassidy knew she was not coming, but going… she knew that Andy had spent the night. And, apparently, she knew that it was not the first time. "I, um…" Andy stammered, staring at the doorway behind Cassidy and sending up a silent prayer that Miranda would appear and spare her from having to come up with an impromptu explanation for this one._

_As if on cue, Miranda appeared in the frame. Her gray cashmere robe was drawn tight around her body, and her elegant eyeglasses were perched daintily on her nose. When she noticed that Andrea was not alone in the kitchen, but in mid-conversation with Cassidy, Miranda stopped at the door. _

"_You're up early," she addressed her daughter, a tinge of resignation in her voice. The conversation she had begun to dread was apparently about to happen._

_Cassidy looked from Andy to Miranda, expectantly. "Andy can stay for breakfast, right?" she finally asked, fixing her gaze on her mother. "It's not like we don't know she stays here sometimes."_

_Andy exhaled slowly. "Y-you do?" she stuttered._

_Cassidy rolled her eyes. "We're not stupid. And you're not exactly quiet when you sneak out," she said, making a face at Andy. _

_Miranda's jaw went slack as she exchanged a worried look with her lover, whose eyes had gone as wide as her own._

_Cassidy, however, did not seem to have lost the ability to say precisely what was on her mind. "Did you think we didn't know that you're a couple?"_

"_Cassidy!" Miranda gasped, scandalized._

_Andy, not knowing what else to do, laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. She caught Miranda's eye and noted immediately that the older woman was anything but amused. Andy stopped her laughter abruptly, and stood rimrod straight. She cleared her throat and clasped her fingers around the kitchen counter so hard that her knuckles turned white._

"_We don't care!" Cassidy insisted. "I mean, we care. But we don't mind." She looked at Andy. "We like you." She turned to her mother. "You can stop being so down-low about it." _

_Miranda nodded, wordlessly. "All right," she said slowly, waiting for the bottom to drop. _

"_It's no big deal," Cassidy assured them. "A lot of people are gay. It's like, totally normal." She frowned at her mother. "You should give us more credit." _

_Andy couldn't help it. She laughed again. This time she didn't look at Miranda – she didn't want to stop.  
_

_A moment later, a groggy Caroline wandered into the kitchen and took in the scene. She looked around, clearly unsure whether she was supposed to feign surprise at having caught Andy Sachs in their kitchen before 7:00 a.m. _

"_It's okay," Cassidy said, answering her sister's unasked question. "They know we know."_

_Caroline nodded, relieved. "So," she said, looking at her mother. "Does that mean Andy's moving in with us?" _

_Andy's eyes shot to Miranda's, only to find that Miranda's gaze had found her first. Andy breathed in deeply, and noticed a small smile playing at Miranda's lips. Andy forced herself to exhale, and loosened her grip on the counter. They had discussed this, that they might live together one day, but it had always been something abstract. Maybe, one day, if, perhaps. As time seemed to stand still, Miranda realized that she and Andrea were both nodding at one another and at the twins, their smiles taking full form. _

_

* * *

  
_

Dinner was interrupted with a phone call from the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad. Miranda took the call in the study, and turned on the speaker phone so that Judy and Richard could listen. Jonathan was in the media room upstairs, trying to keep the girls interested in a reality show when all they wanted was to watch the news for word on Andy.

"We've all seen the CD that was found with Kevin Garrison's body," the Ambassador told them. "It's good news. There was a proof of life video on the CD."

"A proof of life video?" Miranda asked.

"Of the others – Eric Clayton and Andy Sachs. They're both alive," he said, and then added, too quickly, "they're alive on the video."

Sighs of relief went all around the room in New York. "What do they want?" Miranda asked. "How do we get Andrea home?"

The Ambassador waited a moment. "It's not going to be easy," he admitted. "The kidnappers are well-organized. They have people on the outside talking to our staff here, demanding the release of Pakistani nationals from American prisons abroad. The State Department is refusing to negotiate."

"Refusing to…" Miranda looked at Richard, whose face registered the same kind of fury that she felt inside.

"The U.N. has offered to negotiate with them directly, since the American government cannot," the Ambassador continued. "So far, they're refusing. They murdered Mr. Garrison to send a signal that there isn't a lot of time. If we don't give them what they want, either of the other two could be next."

"That's ridiculous," Richard barked. "I don't care if they want us to release Charles Manson. I want my daughter safe now!"

The Ambassador tried to calm him. "I assure you, we are doing absolutely everything that we possibly can to ensure the safe-"

"Like hell you are," Miranda snarled. "You've spent this entire conversation telling me that you refuse to do _anything_. That the government is going to just let my Andrea _die_…" She winced, feeling Judy's hand press into her arm, seeking comfort. It surprised and moved her.

"We'll continue to seek a reasonable compromise, and we are in constant contact with the United Nations," he continued, feebly.

"There is no reasonable compromise!" Judy shrieked. "Get them home! I don't care what you have to give them!"

"We suspect that if we give their cause some attention, we'll be able to secure the release of the detainees without any further loss of life," he said, obviously aware that his audience was not particularly receptive to his message

Richard's face contorted. "The detainees have names," he said, holding back a sob. "Her name is Andy. And you can't just sit on your ass while they do God knows what to my little girl."

Miranda wiped at the angry tears that had formed in her own eyes, realizing that if they completely burned this bridge, they might be unwittingly cutting themselves out of what was most certainly already a very small loop of information.

"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador," she finally said, summoning all the resolve she could muster. "I appreciate your call and trust that you will keep us informed of further developments if they happen."

"Of course, Ms. Priestly," he said, slightly surprised at the congenial shift in her voice.

"And I will take this opportunity," she said softly, "to remind you that although her hands may be tied, the Secretary of State is a personal friend of mine. And I am informed by my quite capable assistant that she has taken a special interest in this case. Should Andrea Sachs be harmed at all, should she come home to us with so much as a bruise on her body that might have been avoided if you had acted more decisively, to say that you will not receive another appointment to your post is most definitely the understatement of the decade. Do you follow me?"

Judy and Richard exchanged glances, and then looked at Miranda with something neither had felt for her before: absolute awe.

The Ambassador cleared his throat. "Of course. Goodnight, Ms. Priestly."

Miranda reached out to the telephone, and ended the call. She turned to look at Richard and Judy. "They're alive," she said. "They won't kill another one now that they have our attention."

"How do you know?" Judy asked, her voice shaking.

Miranda looked at her and shook her head slowly. "I don't," she admitted. "I just refuse to believe anything else."

* * *

_ They had been dating for nearly four months when Miranda invited Andrea to join her for dinner at the townhouse._

_ When Miranda opened the front door, she smiled when she noticed Andrea had a small overnight bag at her side. She had gotten the right message._

_ Miranda would never remember what they'd had for dinner; she was far too anxious about what would come after they had finished. The twins were tucked away at soccer camp, and Andrea had somehow known what Miranda wanted, and now she had a bag, and was laughing like that and looking at Miranda like that and sliding closer and kissing her _like that_. _

_ "I'm really glad we have the evening alone," Andrea was saying, licking her deliciously plump lips and taking Miranda's hand, kissing each finger softly. _

_ Miranda had nodded, feeling as confused as she was excited. Now that the reality of what was about to happen between them was setting in, she wondered if she could do this. She wanted to – desperately, in fact. She had been thinking of little else since that first kiss in the car. But she had never done it, and Andrea had. Twice. That part she had learned on their second date. _

_ For the first time in many, many years, Miranda Priestly was having serious doubts about whether she could do something. Whether she would be good enough._

_ Andrea, for what it was worth, did not appear to have any such concerns. She stood before Miranda in a gorgeous black taffeta dress that hugged Andrea's full bosom tightly, and relaxed around her waist. The deep neckline had taunted Miranda throughout dinner, and she had barely been able to concentrate on bringing fork to mouth as she fantasized about what it might feel like – what it _would _feel like – to caress Andrea right there, to move that fabric aside and press her palm against those breasts._

_ Andrea caught her looking, and smirked. "Do you like what you see?" she asked, trying to sound casual. It didn't work. She was every bit as aroused as Miranda, and Miranda knew it._

_ Miranda nodded, and rose to her own feet. She rested a hand on Andrea's hip. She leaned in, pressed her lips to Andrea's and tasted the wine there. Pulling away, she heard herself asking in a low voice, "Come to bed with me?"_

_ Andrea nodded, looking absolutely intoxicated although she had only had the one glass. She took Miranda's hand, and allowed herself to be led up the winding staircase, past the second floor landing to the third floor, where the bedrooms were located. Miranda's was the second-to-last door on the right, next to a guest room and across the hall from the girls' rooms._

_ They had barely made it into the room before Andrea pressed Miranda to the wall, her hands cupping Miranda's ass and her hips rocking against Miranda's thigh. Miranda gasped, and pushed Andrea away, toward the bed. She took a few steps forward and pressed Andrea onto the mattress, climbing in on top of her, and looking into Andrea's eyes as her mouth descended on Andrea's throat, where she sucked and licked at the delicious, slightly salty skin._

_ Andrea moaned, and Miranda squirmed as she immediately felt a wetness pooling between her legs. This was going to be over far too soon, at this rate. Miranda groaned, trying in vain to stave off her arousal. _

_ It didn't work. Within seconds, Andrea was kissing her forcefully, pushing her tongue against Miranda's and digging her fingernails into the white-haired woman's shoulders, rocking her hips and grinding herself against Miranda's thigh. Miranda grunted, repositioning herself so that she could wrap her arms around Andrea and tug at the zipper holding her dress up. She pulled it down, and then pushed the dress away from Andrea's shoulders._

_ "Oh my God, Miranda," Andrea whispered as Miranda closed her hands around her breasts, "wow…"_

_ Miranda smirked, pleased that she had so easily reduced the other woman to this state. She rolled onto her side, and allowed Andrea to unclasp the catch of her own amber and gold silk wrap, smiling into her pillow as she felt it lift away from her body. She sat up and helped Andrea as they both finished removing their dresses, and then turned to face her._

_ Beneath her clothes, Andrea wore black lace – a semi-transparent set embroidered with a fine silver rose on her left hip. Miranda offered an appreciative smile as she reached around Andrea, and unclasped her bra. She pulled the garment away slowly, exhaling slowly as Andrea's breasts came into view. "Oh," she said, transfixed. "Oh, my…"_

_ Andrea was looking at her with a nervous smile. "Are you…"_

_ "I'm okay," Miranda said, laughing softly as she wrapped her arms around Andrea and pulled her close. "Oh my God," she whispered as Andrea lowered herself on top of Miranda. Andrea rested her weight on her elbows, and carefully released the front clasp of Miranda's bra, pushing the cups aside and dipping her head, taking Miranda's right breast in her mouth._

_ This was a new touch, and it threatened to undo Miranda. She bucked beneath Andrea, her legs parting unconsciously. Andrea moaned, obviously aware of how badly Miranda wanted her. She sucked gently on her breast, pressing her tongue to Miranda's nipple as it tightened almost to the point of pain. _

_ "Andrea," Miranda moaned, tangling her fingers in her young lover's hair. _

_ Andrea replaced her mouth with her hand, gently palming at Miranda's breast while she placed her other hand under Miranda's neck and stroked her thumb against the tender flesh. "Miranda," she whispered. "I want you. I want you so badly…"_

_ Miranda swallowed hard. "Take me," she said. "I'm yours."_

_ Andrea smiled, and then nodded slowly, moving her hand from Miranda's breast and trailing it down her stomach, trailing her fingers playfully across Miranda's hips and then through the fine dusting of curls between her legs. Miranda shivered in delighted anticipation, her hips pressing to Andrea's touch. "Oh," she said, closing her eyes. _

_ Andrea moved her head again, and licked Miranda's throat as she rubbed two fingers against Miranda's increasingly wet sex, tracing them through her tender folds. _

_ Miranda pushed her hands against the small of Andrea's back, pressing the younger woman to her. "I need you inside me," she confessed, whimpering when Andrea's bare breasts touched hers._

_ Andrea moaned, obviously excited by the suggestion. She buried her forehead against Miranda's shoulder and used her fingers to spread Miranda's lips, and then pushed inside gently. Miranda brought her fist to her mouth, stifling a scream as she lifted her hips eagerly. Andrea slipped inside to the hilt, and her wrist and Miranda's hips soon found a slow, steady rhythm. She flattened her thumb against Miranda's clit, and rubbed in small circles while she whimpered against Miranda's shoulder._

_ Miranda tried to hold back her release, but in what seemed like only minutes, she was clenching and releasing around Andrea's fingers. _

_ Andrea slipped out of her, and rolled onto her back to watch Miranda's breathless panting. Before she had said anything, though, Miranda was on her, pinning her to the bed and kissing her hard._

_ Miranda reached down and rubbed her hands on Andrea's thighs, coaxing the younger woman to wrap her legs around Miranda's waist. The fact that she had never done this before had never seemed to matter less. She reached between Andrea's legs, and groaned as her fingers came into contact with hot, silky skin. "You're so wet," she whispered, thrilled that it was true, and that it was all because of her. "So ready…"_

_ Andrea lifted herself off the bed, pressing herself to Miranda's fingers. "I have wanted this," she managed, "wanted it for so long, Miranda."_

_ Miranda closed her eyes, and explored Andrea's body, dragging her knuckles from slit to clit, rubbing her thumb tentatively against the small bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. She covered Andrea's mouth with her own as she found it, the soft, open center, and dipped inside. Andrea immediately thrust against her and squeaked delightedly, and Miranda grinned to herself, knowing she was absolutely getting things right so far._

_ Miranda lifted her head and repositioned herself, pressing her fingers deep into Andrea as her mouth descended on a perfect breast, sucking and licking at it until it filled her mouth, until the slight hint of Andrea's perfume filled Miranda's senses._

_ "Miranda," Andrea whined, rocking against her hand. "Oh my God, oh my God, ohmyGod…"_

_ Taking Andrea's excitement as a plea for more of the same, Miranda flicked her wrist, working her fingers around inside of Andrea. She stroked at the soft, wet walls, and rubbed against the soft rough patch she found near the entrance that drove Andrea particularly crazy. _

_ Andrea was coming moments later, clutching at Miranda and whispering how this was so good, better than she had imagined, how nothing had ever been this good._

_ Miranda finally stilled her movements when Andrea grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back to her breast, which Miranda stroked dreamily as Andrea shook quietly in her arms. _

_ It was Andrea who finally broke the silence. "I think I'm falling in love with you," she whispered, her voice timid, as though she realized that those words would change this moment, change the future – whether to make it more perfect or to utterly undo it was entirely dependent on the reaction of a woman known for being impossibly difficult to predict._

_ Miranda was quiet, and pressed a long, soft kiss into Andrea's forehead. "Tell me when you know for sure," she whispered. "Because I'm already there."_


	4. Chapter 4

"**Without You"**

A _The Devil Wears Prada _Fanfic

by JennedyJLD / JKSophieJane

* * *

Miranda stumbled into the kitchen on Sunday morning, feeling immense guilt about sleeping through most of the night. The fact that most of it had been plagued by nightmares did little to alleviate the burden on her conscience. Andrea was still out there in the middle of who knew where; it was doubtful any progress had been made; and Miranda was sitting in their comfortable home, unable to do anything that could help bring her home. Miranda had no idea what she _should_ be doing, but there had to be something more than this.

Judy, Richard, and Jonathan had been up and moving for an hour, and although the coffee in the pot was old and lukewarm, Miranda poured herself a cup and didn't complain.

Caroline wandered into the kitchen and gave her mother a small hug. "I want to go outside," she said, purposefully affecting the whining speech patterns of a child much younger than herself. Dr. Robinson, who had seen the girls briefly during the divorce from Stephen, had told Miranda that children often adopted this behavior during times of immense stress, when they needed more affection and greater assurances than usual. Miranda doubted that she was in very good shape to provide either right now, but managed to give her daughter a gentle hug and leaned to kiss the crown of her head.

"I know, Darling," she said, her voice quiet. "But we can't do that right now. There are a lot of people outside the house."

Caroline frowned. "I don't understand why they want our picture."

Miranda shook her head. "I don't either," she said. "The same reason people can't tear their eyes away from a horrible wreck…" She put the coffee mug down, hating that she had just compared her life, _their_ lives, to a fatal accident. But that was what it had become, and the world was looking in. The public's interest in the scandal of Andrea's affair with Miranda was far eclipsed by its ignominious appetite for evidence that her loved ones were suffering.

Caroline fixed her mother with a serious look. "Do you really think they're going to let Andy go?"

Miranda took a deep breath. She felt her façade begin to chip, and fought with herself to hold her emotions in check. At what point did trying to provide strength and direction for her child become sheer naivety? "I don't know," she confessed, and took Caroline back into her arms. "I just don't know."

Caroline sniffled, and whispered, "It's not fair. They can't have her. She's ours."

Miranda hugged her tight, and heard a shuffling of feet in the doorway. She looked up, and saw that Jonathan was standing there, watching the scene, obviously unsure whether he should speak up.

"Miranda," he said quietly, "they're… um, they're going to have something on the news. They said something before they went to commercial break. We have maybe two minutes to get up there – Judy and Richard are in the living room."

Miranda nodded at him. "Take the girls to Cassidy's room?"

"No!" Caroline wailed. "No! I want to see. It isn't fair!"

"Come on, Caroline," Jonathan said, his voice strained. He obviously hated having to be the last to know, but understood that he was the least involved, and so the task of protecting his daughters from potentially devastating news fell to him. "Let's just get Cassidy. They'll let us know in a few minutes, won't you?"

Miranda nodded. "Of course. Caroline, go with your father."

Caroline spun on her. "This isn't right," she said. "We love Andy, too. Just as much as anybody else."

"I know," Miranda said, kissing her head again as they vacated the kitchen. "But I don't want you to see anything upsetting."

Caroline shook her head as Cassidy was summoned from the downstairs study, where she had been reading the same page for the last thirty minutes. "Like you're not going to be upset? You get to watch."

Miranda silently conceded that point to Caroline, but still gave Jonathan's arm a thankful squeeze as he directed the twins to Cassidy's room.

* * *

The news was good; but it wasn't easy to receive.

Another network had beaten Leighton to the punch, and Miranda planned to give him absolute hell for putting her in a position to learn about this on television. The "proof of life" video included on the encrypted CD was airing, in its entirety. Miranda, Richard, and Judy sat on the sofa watching Andrea's captors rant about certain Pakistani detainees at various offshore prisons run by the U.S. military, calling for their release.

"The journalists, Clayton and Sachs, are alive," one of the captors was saying, looking into a handheld camera. He turned the camera from his own face, and zoomed in on the back of the dark room in which he stood.

It was impossible to tell anything about the room or its location from the video, which was grainy and dim. But there were four people in the back of the room, and the two in the middle were very clearly the missing journalist and his researcher.

"My arm is broken," Clayton said. "Andy needs a doctor. But we're okay. They're feeding us."

Andrea, who looked tired and shaken but otherwise all right, kept her head down, clearly not cooperating with them, not going along. Miranda didn't know whether to be proud of her or jump through the television and throttle her.

"Oh my God," Judy gasped at the moment her daughter looked up and into the camera.

"We just want to go home," she said, her voice strong.

The camera whipped back around and focused on the spokesman. "The journalists will be returned upon the release of the prisoners we have identified. If we have not received confirmation of release within three days, our hostages will die."

"Three days," Miranda said. "That video was filmed more than twenty-four hours ago."

"She's alive," Richard said, standing and wringing his hands.

Judy stood up next to him, burying her head on her husband's shoulder. "They said she needs a doctor. She's hurt."

Miranda grabbed the remote, and reversed the image on the screen, freezing it on Andrea's face. She had never seen that anxiety before, but she'd seen the resolve. She'd seen the fire.

* * *

_Andrea had been Miranda's girlfriend for eight months, and living at the townhouse for two, when it happened._

_ Miranda stormed into the townhouse in a perfectly rotten mood. The sounds of three happy voices laughing in the kitchen did absolutely nothing to change it. _

_ "Andrea," Miranda said, sticking her head into the kitchen._

_ "Hmm?" Andrea turned and smiled at Miranda, a dollop of cookie dough on her nose._

_ "What is that?" Miranda demanded, as her daughters looked up. The awful dough was caked in Caroline's hair and hung from Cassidy's ears. Great. Another food fight. _

_ Andrea smiled at her. "We're making cookies." She looked Miranda up and down, appraising her foul mood. "And welcome home."_

_ Miranda scowled. "I need to speak to you for a moment."_

_ Cassidy exchanged glances with her sister, and then regarded Andy warily. Andy was clearly in troooouble… but why? If it was the food fight, she resolved, they were all in this together, and would go down that way. _

_ Andrea wiped her nose and then her hands, her cheeks pinking. She nodded at the twins. "Okay, kids. About two dozen silver dollar sized cookies on the tray. I'll be back in a minute to put them in the oven when you're done."_

_ "We can do it," Caroline said, rolling her eyes in true Priestly fashion._

_ Andrea rolled hers right back. "Wait for me," she instructed, and took Miranda's hand as they left the kitchen._

_ Seconds later, in the study, Andrea was the first to speak. "Could you please not do that, like, ever again?"_

_ Miranda arched an eyebrow. "Do what?"_

_ Andrea huffed indignantly. "Speak to me like I'm five in front of the kids."_

_ "I did no such thing. I said that I needed to speak with you because I need to speak with you."_

_ Andrea shook her head. "Forget it. But if you want them to think of me as anything other than a glorified babysitter, then…" _

_ Miranda sighed, exasperated. "Would you stop?" she entreated. _

_ Andrea put her hands on her hips and glared at Miranda._

_ "Have you seen this?" Miranda asked, reaching into her leather attaché and producing a folded up Page Six._

_ "No," Andrea said immediately. "I don't read – hey, I didn't know _you_ read that crap, either."_

_ Miranda sighed. "The second Blind Item is about us," she said, slumping miserably onto the small sofa. "They say I'm having a midlife crisis. Want to know what they say about you?"_

_ "No," Andrea said, firmly. "I do not." She sat next to Miranda. "How obvious is it?"_

_ Miranda shrugged unhappily. "Plenty," she finally admitted. "I know we haven't been going out of our way to hide anything, but I suppose I thought that it would be up to us in the end. How we chose to… present this…"_

_ Andrea stared at her. "Present 'this' what?" She put her hand on Miranda's shoulder. "I think 'this' is pretty special. I don't care if people know about us."_

_ Miranda shook her head. "It's not that I'm embarrassed or ashamed, Andrea, but you must understand that this is about more than just us."_

_ "The twins," Andy said. "Kids can be mean, sure. But times are changing – you heard Cassidy that day, right? It's normal for them."_

_ Miranda breathed deeply, and looked at Andrea. "It's not merely that, either. It's whispers about whether we were involved when I was married to Stephen, when you worked for me. It's ennui about your getting further than you deserve because of me. It's jokes about whether _Runway _will start featuring flannel shirts and Birkenstocks in its layouts."_

_ Andrea squeezed Miranda's hand and looked at her earnestly. "Why don't we just beat 'em to the punch? Let's go make out in Central Park. We can skip the speculation stage entirely."_

_ Miranda glared at her. "Don't be ridiculous."_

_ Andrea frowned. "What? Okay, maybe making out in Central Park isn't the way to go. But I'm ready to run the gauntlet. I'm ready for the world to know I'm yours. Are you… are you ready?"_

_ Miranda looked at her warily. "I don't know."_

_ "Miranda, we live together, for God's sake," Andrea said, her eyes flashing. "You're meeting my parents in two weeks. I'd say we're pretty committed to this, right?"_

_ "Don't ask stupid questions. Of course I'm committed to this."_

_ Andy shrugged. "So what's the difference between coming out now and doing it later?"_

_ Miranda sighed. "I've been trying to tell you. Now isn't the best time."_

_ "There's never going to be a 'good time' to do something like this," Andrea insisted. Her voice was level, but her bottom lip was trembling. This was always a sure sign that she was either about to cry or about to raise hell. Miranda found herself wishing for the latter. Anger could always be met with iciness. The crying, though - she couldn't deal with the crying. She was not equipped for that. _

_ "What, do you want to wait until after we get married?" Andrea asked, continuing her rant. Miranda stifled a relieved smile – good. Mad. She had been hoping for mad. "Or maybe after we have a baby? Are you going to send out engraved invitations to a baby shower… 'Andrea's pregnant. Oh, guess what? It's mine! By the way, we're a couple.'"_

_ Miranda huffed. "You are a lunatic."_

_ "Am I?" Andrea asked, looking at her imploringly. "Tell me, then. When's a good time? Six months from now? Six years?"_

_ "We can't get married, it's not even an option," Miranda said, looking for ammunition and going with the most obvious option. "And we haven't exactly decided whether to have a child. You're very young and I'm very… not."_

_ Andrea glowered. "I can't fucking believe you sometimes."_

_ Miranda's eyes narrowed. "I do _not_ appreciate that."_

_ Andrea shook her head. "Don't make this about _my _reaction. You're panicking. You have nerves of steel, Miranda, but one little blind item, and maybe a few people are gonna figure it out, and look at you funny tomorrow, and you're getting cold feet."_

_ Miranda looked away from her. "I am not," she said cooly, "getting anything. Except a migraine. Stop yelling at me." _

_ "I'm not yelling," Andrea said excitedly. "My voice isn't even raised."_

_ "It's all high and agitated," Miranda said, waving her hand dismissively. "Anyway, I just wanted to warn you that our lives are about to be completely upended. I thought you might have an interest…"_

_ Andrea was in the middle of forming a comeback that looked like it might sting when the kitchen timer went off. She glared at Miranda. "I am going to the kitchen," she said, "to finish making cookies with Caroline and Cassidy. We're not going to fight in front of them. And you're not going to talk to me like that in front of them, either." She looked at Miranda. "Okay?" She knelt in front of the couch, and touched Miranda's cheek. "I know you're panicking, because that's what you do," she said. "But I'm on your team. So you don't have to freak out." _

_ Miranda looked up, her gaze locking on Andy's sincere brown eyes. She was so beautiful that it almost hurt. _

_Andy kept her gaze focused on Miranda. "You came through that door tonight, Miranda, and you walked into a happy home." She kissed Miranda's lips chastely. "Don't go out of your way like this to make things miserable just because you're not used to being happy. You're allowed to be happy, and who cares what anyone thinks? Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." _

_Miranda rolled her eyes, and felt a smile forming through the façade. "We're a team," Miranda said quietly, feeling like an idiot._

_Andy beamed at her, her bright smile returning as she offered her hand and led Miranda back to the kitchen, where the cookies went into the oven. By the time they came out fifteen minutes later, all was well._


	5. Chapter 5

"**Without You"**

A _The Devil Wears Prada _Fanfic

by JennedyJLD / JKSophieJane

Richard startled when Miranda joined him on the roof. It was after 1 a.m. She walked to the edge of the roof and stood next to him, looking wistfully at the lit cigarette in his hand.

"I quit last year," he said, tonelessly, "but…"

Miranda nodded, and held out her hand. Richard tapped a cigarette into it and watched Miranda lift it to her lips. She inhaled as he struck a match and held it to the cigarette. "And I quit fifteen years ago," she acknowledged.

For several minutes, they quietly smoked together, each grateful for the company, but neither feeling the need to pollute the air with words that would not – could not – change anything. When Richard finished his cigarette, he sat on one of the patio chairs and waited for Miranda to join him. She put out her cigarette, and did, slinking into a chair and looking out at the skyline as though it had the answers no one else did.

"They gave us three days," Richard said, his voice gravelly.

Miranda nodded. "Even if they honor their word, we have less than thirty-six hours." She closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm not content to sit and wait." She looked at him and swallowed hard when she realized she was looking into eyes like Andrea's. She cleared her throat. "The official line is that they won't negotiate directly. What they're not saying is that they're negotiating _indirectly_. Money is passing hands. Information is being exchanged."

Richard looked uncertain. "What makes you so sure?"

Miranda was quiet, and then told him. "I called David Leighton just a few minutes ago. Before I came upstairs. He's not sleeping, either."

Richard's forehead creased. "I imagine that the government's not going to release the Pakistanis?"

Miranda shook her head. "No. But a lot of cash is finding its way into the backwater villages. I understand the new strategy is to find someone willing to talk for money and try to locate the kidnappers' lair is found in the next twelve hours. Before nightfall in Pakistan." She shivered, overwhelmed by the realization that no one in charge of this mission seemed to have any idea what to do.

Richard rubbed his face. "I'll wake Judy, tell her."

Miranda nodded. And then, looking away from him, she muttered, "If I thought it would do any good, I swear to God I'd be over in that god-forsaken country right now."

He stood, and touched her shoulder gently. She turned, surprised. "I know you would," he said, his tone kind. "You know we had our reservations about you, Miranda. We still do," he admitted. "I've said some pretty harsh things to you, and…" He frowned. "Well, I'm still concerned about them, to be honest. But one thing has become very clear to me, and to Judy, in the last few days. You obviously love Andy very much."

Miranda was still, and watched him for a long moment. Finally, when it was clear he would say no more, she nodded. "Yes I do," she confirmed. "More than my next breath."

And then they returned to silence, both their hearts breaking in the still and solemn night.

* * *

The next morning was Monday, and Miranda knew that the gathered throngs outside on the curb were waiting to see if she would leave her home, go to work, display the ice-water-in-her-veins coolness that had turned her into a global icon. Or perhaps they wanted to see if she would throw on oversized sunglasses, make sure that the world knew she had been crying, use this tragedy as an opportunity to prove to the world that beneath the dragon's thick skin beat an all too human heart.

But she did neither.

After a brief telephone call to her office to confirm that she would remain at home and that Nigel was to maintain control of the current issue, Miranda joined her daughters in the living room, where they were alternately playing card games they didn't care about with their father and cuddling Patricia, who (for once in her ten years) was allowed to lie on the couch without harassment or recrimination. All the same, the dog had picked up on the somber tone of her people, and was remarkably low-key about the unexpected privilege she had been granted.

Miranda made a round of phone calls – to David Leighton, to the State Department, to the U.S. Embassy in Pakistan. No one had heard anything. Finally, at lunchtime, the Embassy called with what amounted to the first break in some time, although it wasn't much.

"A farmer in Peshawar is claiming he's the brother-in-law of one of the kidnappers," Ambassador Clark reported. "He says his brother-in-law keeps a hunting lodge high in the mountains. We have made him a very enticing offer in exchange for guiding several U.N. Peacekeepers to the cabin. Of course, we don't know that they're there, and we don't know that the supposed brother-in-law is not simply trying to get a new tractor on our dime." He was quiet for a moment, and then admitted, "It's the only lead we have that's worth investigating."

Miranda sighed gratefully. "When will you know what they find?"

"It's a long climb up the mountains. We're told it's four, maybe five hours to the location. And it will take a little while to get a small group together, in case it's a set-up. We won't have them led into an ambush." He was quiet as he waited for her to absorb the news. "In the meantime," he finally continued, "we're combing the entire northwest quadrant of the city, and there's still the hope that the kidnappers will try to release another video, try to prolong what they think are negotiations. The analysts can't tell much from the video we've already seen."

Miranda's heart clenched. "And how do we know they won't send such a message the same way they sent the first one?"

The Ambassador was quiet.

"You'll call?" she asked, her voice thick with worry.

"As soon as we know, either way," the Ambassador promised.

Miranda placed the phone down, and relayed the news. Several relieved sighs went up. Even if it was a long shot, this had given everyone something to hope for. A way to fill the next several hours.

When there had been no word from the Embassy six hours later, Miranda called and was informed that the terrain was tough, and the trek up the mountains was taking longer than expected. She pointed out that there were now eighteen hours separating Andrea and Eric Clayton from their captors' imposed deadline, and the Ambassador had simply mumbled something about everything possible being done, and something else about the United States government not taking the safety and security of its citizens lightly.

The once-hopeful mood that had filled the townhouse that morning had all but left when, fourteen painfully hours later, there had been no word. Miranda's latest phone calls were met with apologies and confusion – no one seemed to know anything, except that there had been no further communications from the kidnappers, and the deadline was growing closer by the minute.

No one could summon the appetite to eat the dinner Pamela prepared. Instead, they gathered in the living room, the girls crying as Jonathan tried to comfort them. Miranda had given up trying to shield them from the news – Andrea's face was on all of the 24-hour news channels nearly constantly, and the girls' school friends were calling and texting them so often that they were never far from the breaking information (not that there had been much lately). She had allowed them to stay home from school today, though - if she couldn't control_ how_ they learned information, she would at least be there to help them react to it – assuming it did not break her first.

Judy and Miranda sat in a corner, both within an arm's length of the telephone, both waiting for the news that would tell them whether life would go on or whether it was lost. Richard watched the television upstairs, prepared to summon everyone if anything new was revealed – but it never was. The story of the missing journalists still captivated the nation, and the fact there was nothing new had itself become the story as a worried nation waited and watched.

Miranda exchanged glances with Richard, and saw her own worry written on his face. She looked at the television and saw her young lover's smiling face, and had to remind herself that this was happening to her, and not someone else. This was real. Andrea was gone, and with each passing minute, the likelihood that she would return – that they would have a life together – grew dimmer.

This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Andrea was not supposed to go first.

Miranda didn't intend to go anywhere for a very long time, but she had always known, had in fact always taken a guilty comfort in knowing, that she would go first, that she would never have to face life without Andrea, who, at twenty-seven years her junior, was almost certain to outlive her.

They had spoken only once about the fact that Miranda would almost certainly die first, and Andrea had kissed Miranda softly and insisted that she would rather have Miranda for ten years than anyone else for a hundred. Miranda had arched an eyebrow and demanded to know what on earth prompted Andrea to predict her demise in only ten years.

But now, on this night, Miranda was face-to-face with the impossible. Could the fates really be so cruel as to dangle this one last shot at happily ever after before her, make her believe, and snatch it away just as quickly?

Finally, as the girls had begun to nod off, their red heads resting on Patricia's huge belly, the long night of waiting was broken by the shrill ringing of Miranda's home phone. Miranda and Judy looked at each other for a short moment, and Miranda reached for the telephone.

"Yes?"

"This is Ambassador Clark," came the deep voice. "Ms. Priestly, you might want to gather everyone together. I have some important news."

Miranda, who hadn't slept in nearly two days, was jolted into consciousness by the first beat of hope she had felt since she had first learned that Andrea was missing. Surely he wouldn't suggest that she summon 'everyone' unless it was good news. Right? "My children are here," she said quietly. "Tell me if it's…"

"It's good news, Ms. Priestly," the Ambassador said, a smile evident in his voice.

Miranda swallowed hard, and looked at Cassidy. "How do I put this thing on…?"

Cassidy walked over, rubbing her eyes. She depressed the speaker button.

"You're on," Miranda informed the Ambassador.

"We've found Andy and Eric. They're hurt," he acknowledged. "But they're alive, and they're going to stay alive."

Miranda couldn't stop a relieved sob from leaving her body as she fell forward, and felt Judy's arms close around her. The twins squealed with delight, and Richard fell to his knees and cried. Even Patricia perked up amidst all of the sudden activity, getting to her feet on the couch and letting out a low "woof" of excitement.

The Ambassador waited until the hubbub on the other end of the line had let up a little, and then spoke again. "We found Andy Sachs and Eric Clayton in the mountain lodge, but they were alone. Someone tipped off the kidnappers. They scattered into the mountains, and there was some gunfire… well, it ended badly for the kidnappers. We've captured two of them and killed one. They've both been roughed up. Clayton's arm is in terrible shape, and Andy was shot in the leg, but they're both lucid. They're conscious and speaking, cooperating with investigators. They're going to be okay."

"Shot in the leg?" Judy demanded, as she and Miranda both stopped smiling at the same instant.

"During the rescue today," the Ambassador confirmed. "My details are very, very sketchy. She's at a hospital in Islamabad right now."

"When is she coming home?" Miranda demanded. "When is she coming to New York?"

"They're only staying here for treatment at a local hospital," he said. "As soon as they're stable, they'll be on an airplane. Maybe in four, five hours. Once in New York, they'll be taken directly to Lenox Hill. I don't have much else for you, but… it's all right. Everything will be all right."

"Oh, thank God," Miranda said, accepting Caroline's hug.

"Can we talk to her?" Cassidy asked softly.

The Ambassador's voice was warm. "Of course. Members of my staff are already at the hospital in Islamabad, and she'll be able to call you in a few hours, and there's no reason you won't see her tomorrow evening, New York time."

After that, the Ambassador ran out of details and the phone call ended. Not much later, the relieved inhabitants of Miranda's townhouse finally gave in to their exhaustion. Celebratory hugs went all the way around, even from Miranda, not the most touchy-feely of people.

Once in bed, Miranda lay down with her phone on her chest, ready to jump back into coherence the moment Andrea made contact.


	6. Chapter 6

"**Without You"**

A _The Devil Wears Prada _Fanfic

by JennedyJLD / JKSophieJane

* * *

Nearly two hours after closing her eyes, Miranda felt her phone vibrate against her chest. For a long moment, Miranda simply listened as Andrea's ringtone filled the air for the first time in a week. She startled, sitting up so quickly that she knocked the phone to the floor. Scrambling madly, she leaned over and found the glowing phone, scooped it into her hands, and frantically tried to avoid missing the most anticipated telephone call of her life.

In a voice that was too loud and too upset, Miranda said her lover's name. She immediately hated the sound of it and wished she could try again.

"Miranda." Andrea's voice, on the other hand, was pure honey – not too loud, not too upset, not too anything. It was peaceful. Perfect.

Miranda closed her eyes tight, unable to stop the tears of gratitude from forming in them.

"Miranda?" Andrea asked, sounding a little confused.

"I'm here." The words lay heavy in her throat, but Miranda forced them out. "I'm right here. Oh God, Andrea."

Andrea was quiet for a moment, and Miranda could hear her shifting in the bed. "Are you in much pain?" Miranda asked, dreading the answer as much as she needed to know it.

"Yeah," Andrea admitted. "I just had surgery. They had to take out a bullet," she said, sounding a little boastful. She added a cocky, "I got shot in the leg. Did they tell you about that?"

Miranda rolled her eyes, feeling a little irritated. "Yes," she confirmed. "Idiot," she added, because it needed to be said.

Andrea didn't laugh, which worried Miranda a little. Maybe it was too early. She sighed, though, and admitted something frightening. "I wasn't sure that I was going to be okay. Not just when I realized that there was a bullet in my leg. I mean… you know, the whole time. I didn't know what was going to happen."

Miranda pressed her palm into her chest and squeezed Andrea's pillow, as if by doing so she could somehow bring Andrea closer to her. "I've never been more scared in all my life," she said. By now, she was no longer shocked when confessions spilled from her lips into Andrea's ears. "If anything had happened to you, I…" Miranda stopped, and wiped at the tears streaking her cheeks. "I just don't know what… I don't think I could…" She hoped that Andrea couldn't tell she was crying. When the younger woman waited, almost nervously, she knew it was no secret. "I'm sorry," she said, apologizing for her traitorous tears.

Andrea's breaths were ragged, and Miranda realized that she was crying, too. Maybe she had been the whole time. "I'm, um, I'm just staying here for a post-op. They have to check me out," she said, obviously trying to regain her own composure. "And Eric's still in surgery for his broken arm. I'll be home soon."

Miranda nodded, trying to believe that this ordeal was finally drawing to a close. She wanted to ask a hundred questions, but found that she was terrified of every possible answer. "Did they…" she started, and then closed her eyes and bit her lip, struggling to get the words out, as if uttering them would in itself create the possibility of an affirmative answer. "Did they hurt you?"

"No." Andrea's answer was immediate. "I mean, it was… they tossed us around a little. My hypoglycemia got kinda bad, and that wasn't comfortable, obviously." She exhaled slowly, and continued. "Eric's arm is bad. It was killing him," she allowed. Miranda could hear her swallow hard. "They killed our driver, and they killed Kevin. They shot him in front of us. I had his blood on my shirt. I didn't know if…" A small, whimpering sound escaped Andrea's throat.

Miranda turned her face into the pillow, feeling very dizzy. "Andrea…" The thought of her precious Andrea in that damp hovel, sick and frightened, tugged at her heart. Miranda remembered how the kidnapper on the video had said that Andrea needed a doctor. Miranda wondered if – hoped that – the man on the video was the one who had been killed today.

Andrea cleared her throat on the other side of the line. "I love you," she said, her voice wavering a little. "I love you so much, Miranda." She wasn't pretending not to be crying anymore, and so Miranda stopped pretending as well.

"I love you," Miranda heard herself whisper, and for the first time in a week, felt her body warm as she remembered what those words had felt like when breathed against her neck, whispered into her ear, murmured in the morning or cried out in pleasure. She had said the words more times in the last year than in the previous fifty-one. Even the girls heard them more often than before. Andrea had not merely made her feel more, she had made it easier, more okay to do so. Miranda wept, allowing herself to consider all that might have been lost now that she knew it had not been.

"You're my family," Andrea said, her voice quiet. "You and the girls. It doesn't matter if we ever come out, or if my parents ever like you, or anything."

"Well," Miranda said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"What?" Andrea asked, her voice sounding almost normal.

"We're already out," Miranda confirmed. "And your parents are staying with me. It's… it's better, at any rate."

Andrea was quiet. Miranda wondered if she was deciding which revelation she should latch onto first. "My parents are at the townhouse?" she asked, in a voice that was both amazed and horrified.

"Yes," Miranda confirmed, not surprised that Andrea sounded like _that_. "I thought they could avoid the media attention more effectively here." She hastened to add, "I wanted everyone to be in one place when you came home." _So you wouldn't choose to go to Cincinatti_, she thought but didn't say.

After a beat, Andrea asked, "There's a lot of attention, then?"

"Mmm," Miranda acknowledged, realizing that she had not stepped foot outside her home, even to go to work, in nearly a week.

"And that's how we're out?"

"We're not on the cover of _People_," Miranda mused. "Yet. I'll have to call Larry Hackett and make sure he's not planning anything tacky."

Andrea laughed a little, but it was weak. "I really get to see you tomorrow," she said quietly.

Miranda closed her eyes and smiled, feeling much better after hearing one of her favorite sounds in the world. "Yes," she affirmed. "Though it was hinted that you might spend your first night at the hospital. I hate that."

Andrea moved around again, and Miranda thought she heard her stifling a yawn. "It's okay. I mean, of course I'm ready to go home. If everyone's there in the hospital room, I'm okay with that. I'm going to wake Mom and Dad up in a second."

"They're in Caroline's room," Miranda said. She hadn't yet told Andrea just how full the house was, or with whom.

"What's wrong with the guest room?" Andrea asked, warily.

"Jonathan's there."

"No shit." She sounded bemused.

Miranda rolled her eyes. "He thought – correctly – that I would want the children with me. He also knew I was hardly in shape to look after them myself."

Andrea was quiet for a long moment, and Miranda realized that she was probably just shocked. Miranda did not often explain herself to anyone, even Andrea. "I'm glad you had everyone," she said, sounding very sincere. "I'm also relieved that you and Mom both survived under the same roof. That's nothing short of amazing."

"Well."

"I mean it," Andrea said, excitedly. "You and Mom trying to live in one place for more than an hour was probably worse than what I-"

"Stop," Miranda said, cutting her off. "Don't minimize what happened."

Andrea sighed. "Trust me, that won't happen. I'm still processing what happened. It's all kind of… well, we'll talk when I'm home. Because I'm coming home to you, Miranda."

Miranda smiled. "Yes, you are," she said.

"It's okay about people knowing, right?" Andrea asked, sounding nervous.

Miranda nodded, even though Andrea wasn't there to see it. "It's fine," she assured her. "I have never been prouder of the woman I am with," she added, and meant every word.

Andrea smiled. Miranda felt it. She knew. And then Andrea was repeating the most beautiful words Miranda had ever heard. "I love you."

Miranda smiled softly. "Call your mother," she instructed, feeling anxious about hanging up, and ridiculous about the request she was about to make. "But will you call me back and stay on the line with me until I can fall asleep?"

Andrea was quiet, and Miranda supposed it was because she was unaccustomed to hearing such requests from her lover, who was by nature far less upfront about her emotional needs. When Andrea spoke, it was with gentle affection. "Of course. Of course I will."

Miranda smiled, glad that going out on the limb had been a safe move. "I love you," she whispered once more, before allowing the call to end. When Andrea called back a few minutes later, it didn't take long at all for Miranda to relax into the easiest sleep she had known in days.


	7. Chapter 7

"**Without You"**

A _The Devil Wears Prada _Fanfic

by JennedyJLD / JKSophieJane

* * *

Getting to the hospital had been a far more complicated task than Miranda had anticipated.

The news that the American journalists were en route to Lenox Hill was the top story on all of the major networks and websites. What few eager photojournalists and columnists were not stationed at the airport or hospital were ensconced outside the Priestly townhome, where they formed a gauntlet of video cameras and microphones. Emily, God bless her, had anticipated that this might be the case, and arranged for several uniformed NYPD officers to contain the paparazzi and create a wide enough berth for the occupants to enter and leave their home.

Miranda and Andrea's parents left the house first, and took the brunt of the onslaught from the reporters as Christopher tore off in the Mercedes. Jonathan and the twins (who had taken great care in packing a suitcase full of items from home that Andrea might appreciate during her hopefully-brief hospital stay) followed in the Porsche, and took an alternate route, in a mostly-futile attempt to pull some of the press juggernaut away from the lead car.

Having received special permission due to the media attention, Christopher pulled the car close to the ambulance entrance and scurried around to the back of the car to open the door. Miranda filed out first, followed by Judy and then Richard. The threesome charged past the sliding doors, where they were met by a large security officer who had been informed of their impending arrival.

"Back here," he said, and signaled for them to follow.

Miranda left her large wraparound sunglasses on as she followed half a footstep behind the security guard. Judy's hand clenched Miranda's forearm through the thick trench the white-haired woman wore, and the fall of her sneakers provided a soft one-two beat with the clacking of Miranda's heels as Richard shuffled anxiously just behind them.

The guard stopped outside the door, and Miranda nearly crashed into his shoulder. She huffed irritably as he slowly pulled the door back, and assessed the room. He turned around and shut the door. "They're taking some blood," he told Miranda and the Sachses. "Let's give them just a minute – not enough room inside for everyone."

Miranda frowned, and noted that Judy's and Richard's expressions mirrored her own. After having waited so long, she didn't want to put off seeing Andrea for another moment. She was also quite miffed that Andrea had been in the hospital long enough for the staff to set her up and start taking blood before Miranda had arrived. As soon as she was able to focus on anything but the happy fact that the love of her life was resting safely on the other side of the door, heads to-be-determined would roll. But she steeled herself and breathed deeply, knowing that the long week of waiting would soon come to a happy, certain conclusion.

After several seconds, each one containing endless eternities, the door opened. A young woman wearing a white lab coat left, carrying a tray with several vials of blood. _Andrea's blood_, Miranda realized. She looked at Miranda, and did a double take when she recognized her. "You… you can go in," she said quietly, and hurried out of the way.

The guard opened the door, and Miranda inhaled sharply as she realized that she was positioned at the wrong side for entry. Judy and Richard entered first, and Andrea's eyes were already locked on her mother's when Miranda slipped in last.

Miranda tried to keep her composure, but felt a small gasp escape when she caught sight of Andrea for the first time in nearly two weeks. Although she had never given up all hope of seeing Andrea alive again, Miranda felt a twinge of apprehension as she realized that this was not at all unlike seeing a ghost. Andrea's gaunt appearance did little to relieve that feeling.

The still-beautiful young woman was positioned in the center of the hospital bed, propped up on flat pillows with the thin blankets covering her. Miranda was instantly grateful that she had instructed the twins to include a comfortable blanket and pillows from home in Andrea's suitcase. Andrea's eyes were heavy-lidded and red-rimmed. Dark circles sat atop hallow cheeks, and Andrea's hair was duller, thinner, although she had been permitted to shower at the hospital in Islamabad. She appeared to have lost several unnecessary pounds and aged several years over the last few days, and Miranda wondered how long it would be before the color returned to her lover's precious face.

Andrea's mouth opened slowly, and then closed quickly, as if she were searching for the right thing to say and had given up before finding it.

Miranda swallowed hard, her eyes focused on Andrea's until they turned to her. She took three painfully long steps forward, and felt the world swim around her. She opened her eyes a moment later to find that she was leaning over the hospital bed, her fingers clasped around Andrea's hand as she pressed a gentle kiss to Andrea's cheek. She was vaguely aware of Judy Sachs taking a mirrored position at Andrea's other side, and felt Andrea's head move as she kissed her mother's cheek, and then turned to brush her lips softly against Miranda's. That small contact, chaste in any other context, Miranda realized, was perhaps the most intimate embrace of their relationship.

Richard was the last to arrive at the bedside, leaning next to Judy and kissing the crown of Andrea's head. "Hey, Kiddo," he said, trying to force a smile out of his trembling lips. Miranda watched Andrea's face contort in a similar manner as she, too, tried to smile. But she failed, where Richard succeeded.

"Hey," Andrea finally said, her voice hoarse and small. "I guess it'd be kind of stupid and obvious to say it's good to see everybody, huh?"

Miranda closed her eyes tight, pinching back tears that she refused to cry in front of Richard and Judy Sachs. In front of Andrea, maybe. After things had returned to normal, maybe it would be all right… but not now. Definitely not now, while Andrea was so clearly in need of assurance and was probably looking to Miranda for a sign that everything was going to be all right. So, instead of letting the tears fall, Miranda gave Andrea's hand a tiny squeeze.

Andrea squeezed back. "Miranda," she said gently, and then let her hand fall away from Miranda's so that she could stroke her cheek. Brown eyes locked on blue, and for the first time, Andrea managed a small smile.

Miranda looked at Andrea, not speaking as they spent a tender moment becoming reacquainted with the lines and features of one another's faces. When Miranda realized that Judy and Richard were exchanging somewhat uncomfortable glances at the obvious love between their daughter and the woman for whom they had come to feel a real, but grudging, respect, she cleared her throat softly. "How are you feeling?" she asked, genuinely concerned, as Andrea was as close to looking like hell as Miranda had ever seen her.

Andrea exhaled, her brow furrowing. "Um, not so good," she admitted, which Miranda appreciated. She'd have seen through a fib in a heartbeat. "I'm kind of sore, and I guess I'm not exactly oriented. I feel a little dizzy, because I didn't eat much this week."

"You're skin and bones," Judy acknowledged.

Andy looked at her mother, and shrugged slightly. She looked at Miranda, and in a ghost of her usual grin, attempted to crack a joke. "Ask Miranda. It won't last long. Just let me get my hands on some fries and ice cream, I'm golden."

Miranda patted Andrea's head softly, thinking that if it made Andrea happy, they could build a McDonald's in the living room.

"I think the hospital's thinking more along the lines of Ensure and protein shakes, though," Andrea whined. "I have a few sprains, a cracked rib, and-"

"A cracked rib?" Miranda interrupted. "You didn't say anything about that."

Andrea looked at her with a thoughtful, though not apologetic, expression. "I didn't want you to be up all night worrying about it," she said.

Judy huffed. "Andy, what else?"

Andrea touched Miranda's arm, tracing it with her fingers as she spoke to her mother. "That's it, Mom. Really. I'm lucky."

"What about your blood sugar?" Richard asked, pulling up an uncomfortable-looking seat and positioning it near the foot of the bed.

"They took care of me at the hospital in Pakistan," Andrea insisted. "And I'm being monitored here. I'm gonna be fine." She leaned back against the pillows. "Eric's in a lot of pain, though. And I want… I want to see Kevin's parents," she said. "They're in Delaware. Eric and I are going to visit them as soon as we can," she said. The decision had been made. "It could as easily have been one of us."

"I don't want to think about that," Miranda said, feeling horror and anxiety creeping back over her.

Andrea gazed at her. "I _have_ to think about that," she said, resolutely. "I have to think about that every day. We're alive because Kevin isn't."

Miranda's eyes widened, and she nodded wordlessly, unsure how to respond.

Judy rubbed Andrea's shoulder gently, and Richard rested a hand reassuringly on her leg. Miranda tentatively brushed her fingers through Andrea's hair, stopping occasionally to rub her earlobe affectionately. For several minutes, no one said anything – and then a rolling thunder filled the hallway.

Andrea sat up straight, her face brightening into what was her first genuine smile. "I've heard that before," she smirked.

Miranda took the opportunity to kiss Andrea's cheek again. "At least there are no stairs outside."

The door flew open, and Caroline bounded gracelessly into the room, her twin sister hot on her heels. "ANDY!" they screamed at once, and flung themselves toward the bed. Miranda and Judy were forced to move out of the way as they crawled up the bed and situated themselves on either side of her.

Andrea laughed. "Watch it," she said, in mock-annoyance. "You're gonna mess up all these wires and stuff."

Caroline looked up, horrified that in her rush to deliver a hug, she may have killed Andrea.

"Relax," Andrea teased, and kissed both their cheeks softly. "I'm not hooked up yet. That particular pleasure comes in a little while."

"Dad went back to the house to get his stuff," Caroline said, looking at her mother from the other side of Andrea. "Then he's gonna come pick us up." She made a face. "I want to stay here with Andy."

Miranda lifted an eyebrow. "A little crowded for that, I think," she said. Of course, she had no intention of leaving Andrea tonight, even if she had to fight Judy and Richard both to the death for the right to be at Andrea's side.

"When are you coming home?" Cassidy demanded.

Miranda looked on in amusement, wishing for a moment that she had the lack of self-consciousness that her daughters possessed. What she would have given to throw herself onto the bed and wrap her arms around Andrea the way that they were doing at that moment…

"I don't know," Andrea answered. "As soon as I can, you know? They just want to keep me here for a little while to make sure they know if I've got anything else wrong with me. No biggie." She eyed the suitcase they had brought from home. "I really hope there are donuts in there."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Like Mom lets us have donuts."

Miranda rolled her eyes right back.

Cassidy beamed. "But there's cookies," she announced.

Andrea's face brightened. "Yeah? Chocolate chip?"

"Duh," Caroline smiled. "It's the only kind we know how to make. Cass, go get the cookies."

Cassidy scowled. She hated to be the one forced to get up, but she got to her feet anyway, freeing up some space for Miranda to lean in closer to Andrea. When she returned with the cookies a couple of minutes later, Andrea's eyes grew exponentially. "C'mon, Cassidy," she mock-whined. "Hook me up before the nurses bust us, huh?"

Cassidy joined in the laughter that erupted throughout the room, and shoved a cookie at Andrea's grateful mouth.

* * *

Three hours later, after Jonathan had collected the twins and Andrea's medical team had performed all of the tests they deemed necessary, Andrea was clearly struggling to keep her eyes open. Miranda, who had already replaced the horrible hospital bedding with her own superior blanket and pillows, felt her pulse begin to race at the realization that there simply wasn't room enough in the hospital for her _and _Andrea's parents.

But Judy, who had apparently already given the matter some thought, looked up at Miranda as soon as it became clear that Andrea was done with conversation for the evening. "Miranda," she said softly, "why don't Richard and I ride back to the house with Christopher? You stay here with Andy."

Miranda looked at her, a little surprised by the enormity of her sacrifice. She knew that were she in Judy's position, no army would have been able to rip her from Caroline's or Cassidy's bedside. She looked to Richard for confirmation, and God love him, he was nodding.

"We talked about this," he said. "We won't be alone tonight. You shouldn't be, either." He walked to the head of the bed, and brushed Andrea's long bangs out of her eyes. "Sleep tight, Kiddo," he said gently. "We'll be here first thing in the morning, before you get up, probably."

Andrea nodded, her eyes not fully open as she kissed her parents goodbye.

Judy leaned down, and kissed her sweetly. "Goodnight, Baby," she whispered. As she left the room, she hesitated, and then walked over to give Miranda a small hug. Surprised and moved, Miranda returned the embrace and kissed Judy's cheek.

Ten seconds after the door closed behind them, Andrea turned to Miranda. "I must have died, and no one told me," she announced.

"What on earth do you mean?" Miranda demanded.

Andrea chuckled. "My mom just hugged you. You _kissed _her."

"Her cheek," Miranda pointed out, as if this made all the difference in the world.

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Come here," she invited, and looked at the small space next to her on the bed.

Miranda lifted her eyebrow. "Are you sure? Will you be comfortable? There's not much space…"

Andrea stroked her fingers against the back of Miranda's neck. "There was enough room for two twelve-year-olds," she pointed out. "I need you close to me. Put on your pajamas and get into bed."

Miranda pressed a gentle kiss to Andrea's lips as she stood, walked to the suitcase, removed her pajamas, and slowly changed into them. She knew Andrea was tired, but tried to add an extra sensuality to her disrobing in case she was being watched. When she turned around, though, Andrea was already snoring softly. She had lost many hours of sleep to Andrea's habit before, but tonight it was perhaps the sweetest sound she had ever heard. Miranda walked quietly up to the side of the bed, and lowered herself onto the thin mattress. She wrapped an arm around Andrea's waist and held her gently, her head tucked into the space between Andrea's shoulder and neck. She breathed in the sweet scent of Andrea's skin, and opened her palm against Andrea's taut stomach.

"Goodnight, my love," she whispered, and when Andrea didn't reply, it was all right. Completely all right.


	8. Chapter 8

"**Without You"**

A _The Devil Wears Prada _Fanfic

by JennedyJLD / JKSophieJane

* * *

For once, cradling Andrea in her arms did not do very much to improve Miranda's sleep. The anxiety and desperation of the previous week, coupled with the single most uncomfortable mattress she had attempted to sleep on in decades, had combined to make it impossible for her to drift off for longer than an hour at a time. By the time sunlight crept in through the cheap plastic blinds, Miranda had already given up on getting anything approximating a quality night's rest. The hospital had been merciful enough to grant Andrea a room with its own bathroom nook, so Miranda took advantage of it by rising early and washing her face.

By the time Andrea's doctors came into the room for her morning check-up, her parents had arrived and were playing cards with the twins while Miranda made her way through The Book. Emily had delivered it last night, having correctly anticipated that Miranda would want to dive back into her work just as soon as she had assurance that the rest of her life was not, in fact, imploding.

"So," Caroline said, arching an eyebrow at Richard. "A full house beats a flush, right?" She managed a self-satisfied smirk as she lay her full house down, and cleared away the pretzel sticks stacked between them.

He looked back, impressed. When they'd left the house two hours ago, the girls had known War and Go Fish. Now, they were both displaying remarkable talent at Texas Hold 'Em. He glanced at their mother, who, with one hand, was sending a pen across glossy pages at top speed while she used the other to paper a sea of multicolored Post-It notes across the same pages. There was little question where the girls had inherited their natural intelligence.

Andrea stirred slightly as one of the doctors lifted the sheets to get a look at the entry and exit wounds. An attractive female doctor and an attending nurse conferred in low, inaudible voices.

Irritated, Miranda strained to hear what was being said. As soon as their conversation came to a lull, she cleared her throat. "Well?" she demanded.

The doctor's head turned, and she regarded Miranda with obvious apprehension. She obviously either recognized Miranda or had been warned about her irascible nature. "A little infected," she said, almost apologetically. When all heads in the room turned to her, as if leveling five accusations, she continued. "We'll just give her a tetanus shot and some antibiotics, she'll be just fine."

"'mmokay," Andrea affirmed, and Miranda watched as the younger woman struggled to sit up. "I'm okay," she repeated, a bit more clearly this time.

Miranda looked up at her, hopefully. "Are you all right?" she asked, because she didn't know what else to say.

Andrea nodded. "Yep."

"Blood sugar's a little low," the nurse said, looking at Andrea warily. "Between that and the injuries, I think you'd better stay here another day or two."

Miranda caught Andrea's pitiful gaze, and realized that Andrea was willing Miranda to work her magic; to do what it took to get them all out of here in the next hour. Miranda sighed and looked at the floor. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to take Andrea home, but she knew it wasn't worth jeopardizing Andrea's recovery.

"Fine," Andrea finally huffed, slumping back onto the pillows miserably.

* * *

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, Caroline continued to wipe the floor with anyone who dared challenge her at poker. The adults, all of whom had recently taken in more than their fair share of news and serious television, did not object when Cassidy – who was clearly perturbed by her sister's runaway success at cards – stopped playing midway through the last tournament and put in a DVD.

"This is ridiculous," Miranda said quietly, absently playing with Andrea's soft hair. "Since when can vampires go outside in the daytime?"

Andrea rolled her eyes and chuckled.

"What?" Miranda asked, wishing for all the world that they were alone.

Andrea shrugged. "I just think it's kinda funny," she said. "You're willing to accept that vampires exist and go to high school. But walking around in the daytime?"

"That's too much," Miranda agreed. "I draw the line."

Andrea, who apparently didn't really care that they were not alone, rested a hand against the back of Miranda's neck and pulled her down for a gentle kiss. Miranda, who two weeks earlier would never have dreamed of making even this chaste display of affection in front of her children and Andrea's parents, felt her heart leap with happiness as she brushed her lips against Andrea's a second time before pulling away.

That night, after saying goodnight to her parents, Andrea suggested that Miranda go home for a little while. "It's okay if you want to go home and get a comfortable shower, eat real food. You can tuck the girls in and come back."

Miranda, however, was having none of it. "Do you really expect me to be able to do that?" she asked, her voice heavy with resolve. "Walk out of this room and leave you behind? After this week?"

Andrea smiled at her softly, and squeezed her hand. "Okay," she said quietly. "But we're going home tomorrow, right?"

Miranda nodded. "We're going home," she affirmed.

* * *

But they didn't go home the next day, or the next.

The long days with little to no food had thrown Andrea's blood sugar dangerously off-kilter, and although her leg and rib were healing quickly, the endocrinologist assigned to Andrea determined that it was better to keep her hospitalized until her blood sugar was back on course.

After a long consultation with their daughter, Richard and Judy had received her assurances that it was all right to return to Cincinnati and visit in a couple of weeks, after Andrea had readjusted to her "real life" in New York. Jonathan had packed his belongings and returned to Paris. The children were in left the care of their nanny, Linda, who was taking them to school, bringing them to visit Andrea every night before dinner, and staying at the townhouse until Miranda and Andrea returned.

Miranda spent every night at the hospital, miserably curled next to Andrea in the only position that allowed them both something close to ample space on the bed, even if it left Miranda with a stiff neck and sore lower back most mornings. Each time the bloodwork came back a disappointment, Miranda rolled her eyes heavenward and began steeling herself for another night of sleeplessness.

"On the bright side," the endocrinologist chirped on the sixth morning of Andrea's hospitalization, "you're staying here through the most intense part of the media storm. Every day, there are a few less cameras outside."

Miranda arched an eyebrow at him, and then glanced at an amused Andrea. "Well, there you have it," Miranda drawled. "You're yesterday's news."

Andrea smirked. "Good thing I don't care about my fifteen minutes."

"No, you had more than that," the doctor said, looking at Andrea's latest reading. "Things are moving in the right direction. Let's make sure you eat all your carbs today, okay?"

Andrea smiled. "Not a problem."

Miranda rolled her eyes. Now that her girlfriend's beloved jalapeno cornbread was essentially a doctor's order, Andrea would no doubt eat it at every meal. Oh well – if cornbread was what it took to get Andrea healthy again, than cornbread it would be. She would just have to insist that Andrea carry a travel-sized Listerine on her person at all times.

"Is it possible that we'll leave today?" Miranda couldn't help but ask.

For once, Dr. Halverstram didn't shake his head. "I'll get blood readings from Andy every three, four hours," he said. "If she's normal throughout the day, and if the doctors treating her rib and leg agree, then I'm not going to object to a discharge tonight."

Andrea and Miranda exchanged hopeful glances. "Tonight?" Andrea smiled. "Really? That's… that's great."

Dr. Halverstram smiled at her. "Now that you appear to be stabilized, there's not a lot I can do for you here that you can't do at home. You're going to have to monitor your blood sugar at least four times a day for the first week, then at least twice a day for a week after that."

"I promise," Andrea said solemnly, clearly willing to promise the doctor her firstborn if that's what it took to get out of the sterile prison.

Miranda, meanwhile, felt a grateful smile lift the corners of her lips as she thought about how wonderful it would feel tonight, when she finally got to hold Andrea close to her in the comfort of their own big, beautiful bed. Almost immediately, she wondered if they would make love. Their nights in the hospital had been completely chaste – even their kisses had been gentle, almost tame. There was the fact that they were both exhausted and anxious, of course. And the constant threat – and frequent reality – of being interrupted by visitors or nurses. Finally, and, Miranda realized, most importantly, she hadn't wanted to push. Andrea had been through a terrifying ordeal, and who knew if she was ready for physical intimacy so soon afterward? So far, merely being held seemed enough for Andrea, and until she indicated that she was ready for something more, Miranda had decided that it would have to be enough for her as well.

Andrea was officially discharged at five-thirty p.m., and Christopher was waiting at the ambulance entrance so that they could make their exit without attracting the attention of the thirty or so paparazzi who had been milling around Lenox Hill's front entrance since receiving the tip Andy Sachs would soon be discharged. The story might not be the top of the hour anymore, but it was definitely still hot, and everyone wanted to be the first to get a quote from the rescued American journalist.

In the car, Andrea wrapped an arm around Miranda's, and rested her head on the older woman's shoulder. "I still can't really believe all that's happened," she said, after they had driven the first mile or so in comfortable silence. "I mean, all of it – the kidnapping, the rescue, the hospital, going home," she said, her voice thick with emotion, although she didn't cry. She hadn't done any of that yet, Miranda realized. Neither of them had, not in front of one another… and they hadn't been apart for the last week.

Miranda turned her head and pressed a soft kiss to Andrea's forehead. She touched Andrea's cheek, letting her fingers rest on the soft, cool skin. "Do you want to talk about…" she started, realizing that the question sounded particularly ridiculous on her own lips.

Andrea, who apparently got the irony, just shook her head gently. "Not yet," she admitted. "I'll let you know if I do, okay?"

Miranda nodded. "While you were asleep, the doctors suggested that you might benefit from," she rolled her eyes, "_therapy_." Her own contempt for therapy was no secret. Her opinion was formed early, and set in stone. She had seen a therapist for approximately three weeks, and dismissed the entire profession after being advised to seek to forgive Jonathan, to whom she was still married at the time, for sleeping with one of her best friends – another junior editor at French _Runway_ named Jacqueline Follet. Miranda still seethed at that unpleasant memory. Jonathan might have gone a long way toward redeeming himself this week, but total _forgiveness_ was still a long way off.

Andrea nodded – not excited by the idea, but clearly not completely averse to it, either. "Who knows," she said. "I don't think they really have specialties in this kind of thing." She offered Miranda a small smile. "I think I just need to be home."

Thirty minutes later, she was. It was still early enough that the girls hadn't eaten, and Pamela had made an extra large enchilada casserole – one of Andrea's favorites, and absolutely loaded with carbohydrates – when the girls had announced that everyone was coming home tonight.

The girls intuitively knew not to ask Andrea about her time in Pakistan, although it was obvious from the occasional pointed silences which punctuated the meal that they were hoping Andrea would unilaterally decide to bring it up. She didn't, though, and was the first to leave the table after dinner, saying that she badly wanted to take a shower and get into a comfortable bed. The girls understood, and accepted their goodnight hugs a little early.

* * *

That night, Miranda kissed the girls goodnight and saved The Book for the morning. Andrea had already gone to bed, so Miranda quietly slipped into the bathroom and showered. She toweled off, wrapped her cashmere robe around her body, and wandered back toward the bed. She glanced down at Andrea, whose peaceful, sleepy expression caused her to appear nearly cherubic.

Miranda lifted the covers and slowly crawled into bed to lie down next to Andrea. She fixed her gaze on the dark-haired woman, and heard herself sigh with relief as, for the first time in a week, her body fell against soft, comfortable bedding instead of a thin mattress and tangled mess of coils.

"Hey," Andrea whispered, her lips curling into a small smile.

Miranda smiled back softly, relieved that the decision about whether to wake Andrea had been taken out of her hands. "Hi," she whispered, leaning forward to kiss Andrea's lips gently.

Andrea kissed her back, and opened her arms to wrap them around Miranda and draw her in close. Miranda moaned gently, her fears of never being in this place, doing these things with this woman ever again finally giving way to desire, need, and fulfillment.

"I missed you," Andrea said, the words tumbling out quickly and clumsily. And then, Andrea's mouth found Miranda's, and Miranda closed her eyes as she felt those warm, soft, and _oh my God so open _lips pressing against her own. Miranda closed her eyes and pressed a hand against Andrea's lower back, holding her lover in place as she slowly licked at the corners of Andrea's lips, her other hand resting on the bare skin of Andrea's hip.

Miranda opened her mouth, trying to murmur Andrea's name. She groaned instead, extending her neck as Andrea's lips traveled past her jaw to suck gently at the soft skin of her throat.

Already swollen and wet under her robe, Miranda shifted when Andrea whimpered softly with what had to be want. She closed her legs tightly, her clitoris throbbing almost painfully. _Wait_, she told herself. _Make this last_. But then Andrea's hands were tangled in Miranda's hair, her fingers rubbing gently at her neck, and Miranda realized that her body's natural responses could not be slowed. As soon as Miranda dipped her tongue into Andrea's hot mouth and felt the gentle suction when Andrea closed her lips around it, Miranda's hips shifted and she rolled herself onto Andrea, both hands moving to caress the younger woman's full, perfect breasts as she thrust gently against her lover's thigh, still conscious of avoiding the leg that was still healing.

Andrea's hands left Miranda's hair and settled on her hips. Miranda lifted her gaze, and saw that Andrea's eyes were closed. She felt Andrea's body going limp.

"Andrea?" she asked, panting through her ragged breaths as she stilled her movements.

Andrea's eyes fluttered open, and she looked almost apologetic. "It's okay," she said quickly.

Miranda frowned, and slowly eased herself onto the mattress beside Andrea. Her hand wandered along the warm flesh of Andrea's belly, her fingers drumming softly. She looked into Andrea's eyes and waited.

Andrea, never good at long silences, breathed deeply and started talking. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to… I just… I guess it's just…"

Miranda's brow furrowed as she watched Andrea struggle with her words. _Am I really this difficult to talk to_? she wondered, and then realized that the answer was a resounding "yes." She decided that the least she could do was make a small effort to change that, and reached out, realizing that Andrea's hand was trembling only when she covered it with her own.

Andrea swallowed hard, and looked at Miranda. "I want to," she said, her voice sounding almost choked. "I swear that I do, Miranda."

Miranda nodded, believing her. She gave Andrea's hand a small squeeze, and brushed their lips together. "All right," she said gently, not wanting to say too much and stop Andrea from explaining what was really going on.

"I thought about this," Andrea said, her continued explanation all the evidence Miranda needed to know that she had made the right decision in choosing to remain quiet. "When I was over there, I thought about coming home, being with you again. At night when I couldn't sleep I would try to remember everything about sleeping next to you – the way your body feels, the way you taste, the way you smell." Andrea's hand moved out from underneath Miranda's, and went to her cheek to brush away the first tears she had allowed herself to cry since coming home. "And I guess being here, having this for real… I just… I don't know. I don't think _guilty_ is the right word, but… it's a lot to process." Andrea sniffled, and looked into Miranda's eyes. "Does that make any sense?" she asked.

"Yes," Miranda said quickly, although it didn't. Not to her.

Andrea sighed. "I can tell you don't understand, but that's okay." She wrapped her arms around Miranda, and pulled her lover's face close to her chest.

Miranda thought about it. Andrea had already explained herself at the hospital, hadn't she? She had said that she and Eric Clayton were alive only because Kevin Garrison was not. It _was_ guilt that was freezing her now – guilt that she had escaped that Pakistani prison with her life, that she had been permitted to return to the lap of luxury, to a family that loved her and a lover who adored her.

"I do understand, Andrea," Miranda said quietly, and pressed a kiss to Andrea's still-clothed breast. "We'll wait until you're ready." _I'll always wait for you_, she realized.

Andrea nodded, and brushed again at the tears, obviously trying to close the floodgates before a critical mass of tears escaped, making it impossible to shut the flow back off. Miranda nestled against her chest, and wrapped her arms around Andrea's waist as Andrea's arms closed around her.

"I love you so much, Miranda," Andrea said, and kissed the top of her head. "I mean it about thinking about you all the time. I don't think I would have survived it if I didn't have someone so strong to think about. I knew you were strong and brave and wouldn't be scared…"

Miranda shook her head and found that she, too, was having trouble keeping her tears in check. But she did. "No," she protested. "I was a mess. I was terrified."

Andrea held her more tightly. "No," she whispered. "You were there with me, and I saw you. You were so strong."

And then they both stopped trying so hard, and although tears were shed by both, neither broke down as they held onto one another tight and fell into a beautiful sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Three weeks after she had come home, Andy finally started talking about what had happened. In a small room devoid of any personality, sitting with Miranda and a psychologist who apparently specialized in treating post-traumatic stress patients, she recounted the drive through the villages, sandwiched between Eric and Kevin in the backseat while their guide tried to locate local people willing to talk to the American journalists. She described he four militia men who had overpowered them, ordered everyone out of the car, beaten the driver to death with the butts of their Kalishnakov rifles, and then forced Andy, Eric, and Kevin to lay face down in the backseat, unable to see anything, certain they were going to be killed.

Through it all, she held Miranda's hand.

"We drove for about three hours, and then they made us put on blindfolds," Andrea said, hurrying through the story, not wanting to stop and linger at any point lest it become too emotional. "When they took them off, we were in this muddy cave thing. It was small, like a bathroom." She looked at Miranda, and tried to inject levity. "Well, not one of _your_ bathrooms."

Miranda stared at the wall on the other side of the room, wondering how Andrea, or anyone, could ever be okay again after something like this.

"We were just glad everyone was alive," Andy said, rubbing her thumb over Miranda's hand. "They took us to see this guy called Mullah Taleb. He was their leader or something." Her face darkened. "He's the one who shot Kevin, right in front of us."

The past three weeks had given them plenty of opportunity to become educated on Mullah Taleb – a local Taliban official, he was working in league with one of the more hard-line faction in the Pakistani tribal areas, where Osama bin Laden was thought to be hiding.

"We tried talking to them, telling them we had kids..." Andy swallowed hard, remembering her own pleas. It was there, trapped in the cave, that she realized she already thought of Miranda's children as her own. "It didn't matter. It didn't make a difference. We were American journalists, worth a fortune to them. And they knew they had to kill one of us to get attention over here. They called it _sending a blood message._"

Miranda closed her eyes and lowered her head at that, knowing that Andrea could just as easily have become the group's 'blood message.'

They had been coming to see the psychologist twice a week, and this was the first time that Andy had revealed more than the doctor and Miranda knew from the news. After what was called a "structured stress debriefing," the doctor had given his blessing to Andy's desire to go see Kevin Garrison's mother in Minnesota, believing that the opportunity to talk to Andy might do as much for the woman as it would for her.

And so they went, Andy and Miranda, while Jonathan looked after the twins. Kevin's mother had cried with Andy and laughed with her, as grateful for the new glimpses into her son's last days as she was for the knowledge that the young woman who had survived the ordeal had thought it worth coming to see her.

In most other respects, Andy's return to normal life was progressing steady, albeit slowly. She'd stayed at home for the first two weeks, and then bravely run the paparazzi gauntlet on her way to the subway – still her preferred means of transportation. The girls were granted a reprieve from piano practice and their own therapy so that they could get home from school early and spend as much time with Andy as the three of them could stand. At night, Andy was usually the first to go to bed – the lingering effects of her ordeal and the pain medication she was still taking left her feeling exhausted most of the time.

"I'm proud of you," Miranda noted in the St. Paul hotel room. They'd left Mrs. Garrison's home just an hour earlier, and were readying themselves for bed before flying back to New York in the morning. "I don't know how you're doing this."

Andy shrugged. "I'm just surviving, Miranda. I'm not a hero or anything."

Miranda reached out, touched Andrea's shoulder, and leaned in to give her a chaste kiss. "You're mine," she said, somberly.

Andy shook her head. "Sure," she said, stepping into Miranda's arms and wrapping her own around the other woman. "I go right next door to an active war zone, get myself kidnapped, get one of my colleagues _killed_, get shot in the leg…"

"…and still manage to come home to me, to go back to work, to be there for the children," Miranda continued for her. She rubbed gently at Andrea's back. "Whatever you did? It was the right thing. I know it was, because you're here. You survived."

Andrea was quiet for a moment, and then nodded, wiping at her own tears. "Yeah," she said, finally allowing a smile to cross her beautiful features. "I did, didn't I?"

They had fallen into bed wrapped in one another's arms that night, and made love for the first time since Andrea's return. It had started slow, soon turning into a frenzy, and ended as sweetly and slowly as it had started.

Andrea's cheek rested atop Miranda's breast, her hair fanning across the older woman's chest. One hand pressed against Miranda's shoulder, and their bodies melded together under the sheets.

"What's next?" Andrea murmured, lifting her head and beginning a series of soft, languid kisses.

"Next?" Miranda asked, arching an eyebrow curiously. "You're ready for another go?" It wasn't a terrible proposition by any means. She moved her own hand, nudging Andrea's hip suggestively.

"No!" Andrea exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "Well, I mean yes. I am. That was… it was amazing being with you again." She nuzzled her nose against Miranda's cheek. "I meant what's next for us? The world kinda knows about us. The kids seem fine, thank God. My parents have decided you're actually kind of decent, which is a huge relief. Is everything gonna be okay? With the magazine?"

Miranda nodded. "It'll be okay because I'm not going to allow it _not_ to be okay," she said decisively. "I already knew I wasn't going to live without you, Andrea. You didn't have to go get kidnapped by terrorists to convince me of _that_."

Andrea groaned, swatting Miranda gently as a bright smile crossed her face. "Will it help if I promise never to do it again?"

Miranda was thoughtful. "It might," she said. "Are you willing to stay put, cover City Hall instead of international conflict?"

Andrea shrugged. "Not really," she admitted.

Miranda sighed, having known that would probably be the case. "From now on, you're packing heat. And you're learning karate. And traveling with Marines – don't look at me like that. I'm very serious."

Andrea was giggling. "God, I love you," she murmured, closing her enormous brown eyes and placing a line of feather light kisses along Miranda's jaw line. "Will you marry me?"

"Sure."

Andrea froze. "What?"

Miranda arched an eyebrow. Andrea was being playful, but she wasn't. She'd blown off the idea the last time it had come up, and she wasn't about to do that again – wasn't about to squander the opportunity to let Andrea know just how serious she was about this relationship, about keeping their family together. "I said I will," she confirmed.

Andrea blinked. "I haven't… I didn't… I don't have a ring."

Miranda's stomach was going kind of floaty inside her, but she managed to keep a straight face. "No ring, no deal."

Andrea frowned, knowing Miranda was kidding, but not sure about how much. "Miranda…" she whined.

"Relax," Miranda said, and touched her fingers to Andrea's cheek. "We can shop for rings, observe the formalities soon enough." Her eyes shone, crinkling with affection. "I'm not letting you go. Whether or not we do this… getting married thing, or a reasonable facsimile thereof… that's entirely up to you. But I'm… I'm with you. I'm not," she repeated, "letting you go."

Andrea bit her lip, and decided not to protest anymore. Getting married seemed to her the perfect way to begin their next chapter together – especially now that her parents would probably show up to the wedding, the girls wouldn't be embarrassed, and Miranda had decided to accept the chips falling where they may elsewhere. She nodded, sealing their unexpected deal. "I'm with you," she affirmed, leaning in to kiss her love, glad to be home at last.


End file.
